


Two Ways to Skin Tonight

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: Two Ways to Skin Tonight [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anger, Arguments, BDSM, Bondage, Cock Cages, Cockwarming, Collaring Ceremony, Cuddling, Dom/sub, Dominant Hannibal, Dry Orgasm, Established Relationship, Forced Orgasm, Forniphilia, Full sensory deprivation, Human Furniture, Kink, M/M, Marriage, Moving In Together, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Murder Basement, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Power Dynamics, Predicament Bondage, Romance, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Slapping, Sleepy Sex, Spanking, Sub Drop, Submissive Will, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Total Power Exchange, Wedding, Whipping, collaring, proposal, sub space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: Had he really not noticed it?Will was at the FBI because of the things he could see, because of his absolutely keen observation skills. He could become anyone, see through anyone’s eyes, feel their emotions, figure out their motivations. It occurred to Will that he hadn’ttriedto do that with Hannibal. He hadn’ttriedto figure out if dinner was just dinner, or dinner and sex, or dinner and sex and breakfast the next morning. He’d just let it happen, he’d let it go and come what may and that had been… it had been such a relief not to be on all the time.Continuing on from Tricking Myself Nice, and a few of the chapters of The List, so we'd recommend you read those first!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Two Ways to Skin Tonight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1494140
Comments: 154
Kudos: 401





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has some rough chapters in it. While it is a finished story and it does have a happy (as can be with them) ending, it's a bumpy road to get there. We will warn for specific things per chapter if we feel something's particularly triggering!

It took a very long time for Will to figure it out, in retrospect. He estimated Hannibal got away with it for _ weeks _, at the very least. Possibly months.

It was just that Will took so very well to routines. They made his life so much simpler, and there hadn’t been any reason to notice anything odd about it. 

Most days, Will woke up, ate some breakfast. If Hannibal was there, it was fresh. If he wasn’t, Hannibal had likely left Will something to reheat. The days that Hannibal wasn’t there, Will would text him good morning, and they would chat a bit before Will headed off to work, always with Hannibal reminding him to get a cup of coffee on his way in.

The day Will figured it out, it only took a very small deviation from the routine. Hannibal wished him a good day, and did not remind Will to get a cup of coffee. Will was halfway through a concerned text message when it hit him, and _ then _ he was _ furious _.

It would not have been an accident. Hannibal Lecter did not do things on ‘accident.’ 

“It’s a bit early for a call, Will, is everything alright?”

“Shut up,” Will snapped, balancing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he climbed into his car. “Do you want to tell me why I just caught myself writing a text to ask your _ permission _ to pick up coffee this morning?”

“How can I tell you that, when you were the one writing the message?” Hannibal replied smoothly. Will gritted his teeth, rubbed his fingers under his glasses til he saw stars against his closed eyelids.

“I’m not joking, Hannibal, what the fuck have you done?”

“Nothing,” Hannibal’s tone hadn’t changed. Not to anger, not to defensiveness, not to - thankfully - smugness. “The better question, I think, would be to ask yourself why you felt the need to ask permission in the first place. I’ve never told you that you must restrict yourself in your consumption of coffee.”

Will colored and jammed the keys into the ignition as though it had personally wronged him. “No, you haven’t,” he muttered, “You’ve just ‘helpfully’ reminded me to get one every single morning we’re apart, so that the one day you didn’t, it would trigger something in me. Something you’ve been building up to, _ on purpose _, since that time you snuck up on me during my office hours.”

“‘Sneaking’ would imply I was being underhanded.”

“Weren’t you?” Will drawled. 

“You were the one telling lies that day, Will. I believe we handled that incident.”

They had. They’d handled it _ extremely _ thoroughly. Will was grateful for the relative emptiness of the highway this morning, so he didn’t have to worry about losing his cool with other people close behind him. 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about, Hannibal. You’ve wanted control since we met, I could see it in your face. I’m not surprised, but I thought you’d _ tell me _ before you started bringing it outside of the bedroom.”

“Is there a point to telling you when you’re present for all the incidents in question? You’ve yet to have any complaints.”

Will muttered a curse under his breath. “I might have, if you’d told me what you were doing.”

“An interesting choice of word, ‘might.’”

Will resisted the urge to tell him to shut up again. It didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere. “Well, just so you know, I’m getting my coffee this morning. I’m going to need it if I’m going to get through the day until we can talk, preferably without strangling my students.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said, sounding so very magnanimous. “In fact, shouldn’t you have left by now? You aren’t driving while we have this conversation, are you Will?”

“Why, are you going to tell me to stop?”

“Yes, I am.”

Will considered telling Hannibal to go fuck himself, he considered outright denying him and talking more, but in truth he had absolutely nothing to say. So he just hung up. He hung up and tossed his phone to the passenger seat and muttered to himself as he pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop he’d stopped at, now, _ every day _, for months.

Had he really not noticed it?

Will was at the FBI because of the things he could see, because of his absolutely keen observation skills. He could become anyone, see through anyone’s eyes, feel their emotions, figure out their motivations. It occurred to Will that he hadn’t _ tried _ to do that with Hannibal. He hadn’t _ tried _ to figure out if dinner was just dinner, or dinner and sex, or dinner and sex and breakfast the next morning. He’d just let it happen, he’d let it go and come what may and that had been… it had been such a relief not to be _ on _ all the time.

His coffee tasted more bitter than usual that morning, and he wasn’t sure why.

He knew his tone was particularly sneering as he lectured that day, and there was little he could do to stop it. He delivered his facts to the students, asked if they had questions and was met with a predictably silent classroom before letting them free.

That morning’s conversation hung over him like a goddamn cloud all the way through til lunch. Lunch that Hannibal had made him, and that tasted divine, and that Will ate with a look of absolute spite on his face because it had been preceded by a message from Hannibal reminding him to not push his lunch hour like he had the week before, since he had a meeting with Jack that afternoon.

Bastard.

Will’s foul mood persisted through the rest of the day. He was his own goddamn thundercloud by the meeting with Jack, and worse afterwards, scowling at everything, including his own house when he finally pulled up. The dogs were waiting for him outside, released by Hannibal, but even _ that _ seemed to Will like a carefully calculated move to get a specific response.

It _ was _ hard to be mad at the dogs though. Will dropped to his knees to take a few long moments of enjoyment, the first he’d found all day.

Of course, then he had to stand up and join Hannibal on the porch, and Hannibal was expecting _ some _ sort of greeting, and Will was _ not _ kissing the bastard. 

“Hello, Will.” And damn him, he greeted Will with that same small smile that always gave Will shivers.

“You’re a manipulative asshole,” Will accused, storming past him into the house. 

“Ah. We’ve progressed to name-calling.”

He didn’t follow Will into the house for a good few moments, allowing him the space to toss his bag and coat, stomp to the kitchen to check on dinner that was nearly finished, open the fridge to grab a beer and crack it open.

Hannibal took up his glass of wine when he stood, and held the door open for one of the dogs to go in before him.

“Are you really so upset?” Hannibal asked him. Will didn’t answer until half the beer was gone, and even then only after a moment.

“It’s just weird,” he said. “Right? It’s fucking weird to condition someone to be so reliant.”

Hannibal didn’t immediately offer a response either, but instead set down his glass and leaned his weight on the counter that stood between them. In truth, if it had started as a game to him, it had long surpassed that. Hannibal had found that the more control he took from Will, the more mundane things he took into his own mind and memory, the more Will relaxed, the more he slept, the more himself he was allowed to be.

It hardly felt like a sacrifice on Hannibal’s part. And, if he were honest with himself, he’d been certain Will was aware of the situation by this point.

“I enjoy being able to take care of you,” Hannibal offered after a while. “In whatever capacity I can. If it’s become smothering, I’ll stop.”

“It’s not _ smothering _ ,” Will said, his defense immediate and instinctive. “It’s just. It’s just _ weird _, Hannibal. I’m a fully grown adult, I can’t just rely on you to tell me what to do all the time!”

It seemed to Hannibal that Will was more upset by his thoughts on how things should be, rather than being upset in his own right. But Will was not in a place to be accepting of such a thought. At this point, Hannibal was likely to enrage him further. “I’m sorry I upset you,” Hannibal said, the only concession he would allow. He didn’t feel guilty or regretful. He and Will had both benefited.

“Yeah, well…” At Hannibal’s apology, Will lost steam. He’d clearly been preparing himself for more of a fight, and when Hannibal failed to give him one, he deflated. “Don’t do it anymore, okay?”

Well, that was something Hannibal could do, if Will so wished. He wasn’t sure Will understood just how much Hannibal had begun to decide for him, how much of his own care he’d given over. Given that Will had only brought up the _ coffee _, and not the numerous other areas Hannibal had inserted himself into, it was only a matter of time before they had this conversation again. This time with a more favorable outcome. 

“Of course,” Hannibal said softly. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me touch you now? I’d hate to sit down to a meal in anger. Spoils the digestion.”

Will snorted, swirling the dregs of his beer at the bottom of the bottle before finishing it off. He knew Hannibal was watching his throat work, knew he was studying the way Will’s hair curled a little too long over the collar of his shirt.

And sure, he was annoyed, he was irritable, he wasn’t a _ goddamn _ child, but hell if the way Hannibal was looking at him wasn’t doing delicious things to his body. Will set the empty bottle by the sink, moved to turn off everything on the stove, and looked at Hannibal over the frames of his glasses.

“Maybe I won’t,” he said, aiming for a casual sort of resignation. “Maybe I’ll do what you do to me and make you hold your hands still while I enjoy myself instead.”

Hannibal’s lips curled, just enough, just a little, before his expression cleared again. “I suppose that would be a fair reprimand.”

“You can be the patient one, for once,” Will continued. “You can listen to what _ I _ have to say.”

The flash of irritation that crossed Hannibal’s face was almost hilarious, as was the way he immediately put himself back together. “If it would make you feel better, Will.”

“It wouldn’t,” Will said with a sharp smile. Despite his anger all day, he enjoyed when Hannibal took charge _ in bed _, a place where it was distinctly more appropriate for one partner to dominate the other. “And you’d hate that, wouldn’t you? Someone coming in and taking control away from you?”

Hannibal drew in a slow breath. “There’s little I would hate with you,” he said, “but there are a few things I wouldn’t prefer.”

“You’d really let me do it,” Will said softly. That knowledge, in and of itself, was enough. Hannibal, so rigidly grasping at control, would hand it over if Will considered it an apology. Will laughed. “You’re a very lucky man, Hannibal. I find that there are _ certain _ moments where giving up a little control is entirely more enticing than the other way around.” Will drew his lower lip through his teeth, leaning back against the opposite counter with a slow, rolling stretch. “And don’t you think we could both use some stress relief?”

“I’d consider myself lucky for many reasons,” Hannibal replied, his own expression soothing with a smile as Will relaxed. He pushed himself to stand, rounding the counter and cornering Will where he stood. A moment, a brief ducking of his head to nuzzle Will in apology, before he grasped Will’s hair and _ yanked _, hard enough for Will to need to catch himself against him.

Then he brought their lips together in a rough and claiming kiss.

Will immediately fought back, shoving, squirming, grasping against Hannibal where he could reach him and drawing nails over his arms. He kissed back with just as much fervor, grinned just as wide when Hannibal pulled back to smile at him and pulled Hannibal down again by his tie, uncaring that he’d wrinkle it.

There was something to be said about the passion of anger. Will worked himself into a fight here where he had been denied one verbally, and Hannibal was more than happy to oblige. He caught Will when he tried to move away, wrapped his arms around him and lifted him from the floor, delighting in the genuine growl of displeasure that drew.

Will claimed first blood with Hannibal’s vest on the floor. Hannibal claimed first bruise when he sucked a kiss hard against Will’s jaw, pulling Will’s hair hard to hold him in place as he praised him with how good he felt against him.

Hannibal’s words drew the first soft noise from Will, the first concession towards submission, but not the last Hannibal would wrench from him. In retaliation, Will shoved him backwards, herding him towards the living room with teeth against his throat, nipping a line of bruises until Hannibal yanked his head back again. 

Together, they toppled into the bed, kicking blankets aside, tearing clothes off. They rolled, for a moment, each fighting to pin the other. Hannibal grazed his teeth against one of Will’s nipples, drawing gasps from him and easily twisting Will’s body beneath his own. Hannibal nipped and sucked at the stiff peaks, back and forth between them until Will got a handful of his hair and hauled him back up. 

“Don’t tease,” Will growled, biting hard at Hannibal’s lower lip. Hannibal smiled against his mouth, hauling one of Will’s legs up around his hips.

“But you whine so prettily when I do.”

Will growled and dragged his nails down Hannibal’s back. Hannibal caught his wrist and pinned it, grinding down against him in slow rolls of his hips. 

In truth, it was the perfect way to let off steam. Will loved the push and pull, giving Hannibal just enough of a whimper or a tremble to give himself space to move, to pin, to rut down against. They wrestled until Will found himself laughing, pleasure palpable at being encouraged to find relief this way, to accept Hannibal’s apology without actually saying anything.

They came to rest, panting, breathless, with Will’s hips in the air and his face mashed into the sheets, fingers lazy and slow as he grasped the pillow in front of him.

“Yield?” Hannibal asked him, grinning when Will predictably denied it. He expected nothing less.

A warning nip to Will’s thigh got nothing more than a rocking of the younger man’s hips forward, and Hannibal’s tongue between his cheeks drew a shudder of pleasure from Will. He put up a half-hearted struggle just to feel Hannibal holding him so tightly, wide hands hot against his skin. Will didn’t ask permission to come, here, and Hannibal didn’t make him; when Will dropped his hand between his legs Hannibal only slowed his devouring to a teasing warmth.

It was only once Will had come, that Hannibal leaned away to find the lube, teasing Will open enough to be comfortable but hardly taking his time. He allowed Will his struggles, here, too, whispering praise against him, commenting idly on how easy it was to have Will so pinned and prone as Hannibal languidly fucked him. He drew out his own pleasure to feel Will edge the line of pain, relishing the stuttered breaths and gritted teeth before pushing in deep and kissing hot against Will’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Will mumbled, spreading boneless to the bed and turning his face in a rough nuzzle against the pillows. “_ Fuck _ that was good.”

In answer, Hannibal just kissed him.

They salvaged what they could of dinner, and then spent a good hour or so sprawled comfortably together across the bed, each with a book in their hand, Hannibal braced half across Will in that nearly-uncomfortable pin Will liked. Eventually, though, Hannibal had to bid him goodbye. They kissed at the door, Will’s early rage long since forgotten.

Hannibal did not leave the breakfast or lunch he’d prepared, as Will found in the morning.

“Spiteful bastard,” Will said, more amused than irritated as he jammed a granola bar into his bag. “He _ would _ consider meals to be a form of control.” And that was fine. Will had been feeding himself for decades before Hannibal came along, and knowing Hannibal’s opinion on Will’s usual diet, he wouldn’t be able to hold out very long.

But then there were the little things. Things that Will had not even considered. Things that had snuck in right under his nose. 

How long had he been asking Hannibal for his opinion on work clothes with slightly flirtatious photos? How long had Hannibal been sending him little texts throughout his day to check up on him?

Will forgot lunch entirely, though he’d thrown a handful of small things into his bag, and had cash for the cafeteria. He ended up nauseous through another meeting with Jack, this one unplanned and making him thoroughly late for dinner. In fact, with the discovery of another body, Will didn’t make it to Hannibal at all. Hannibal was understanding, because of course he was, he _ always _ was.

He didn’t text Will a goodnight, a reminder to get some sleep. Will stayed up late working on the case, half out of genuine need and half out of a spiteful desire to somehow get back at Hannibal.

And then the next day it started again.

Will managed coffee, but forgot breakfast. Fridays weren’t hugely taxing on him usually; he had a late morning class and little else that day, but with the case and Jack, he ended up missing lunch - again - and a headache damn near floored him by the time he got back to his car around three.

Part of him wanted to cry. He hadn’t felt so damn helpless in a long time, it was pathetic. He’d managed to take care of himself without too much issue for two decades and now? Now he was forlornly chewing a granola bar in his car to line his stomach for incoming aspirin and all he wanted was to wrap himself around Hannibal and sleep on him.

Maybe he’d been right. Maybe it was care, not manipulation. Taking on a weight Will hadn’t realized had tugged him to a crawl every day just so Will didn’t have to notice it anymore.

He crumpled up the wrapper and pulled his phone from his pocket.

_ I’d like to make a dinner reservation _.

A moment, two…

_ My kitchen is always open to friends. _ Came the reply. Followed closely by _ I suppose I could apply the same principle to your kitchen. _

Will couldn’t help but laugh. Hannibal hadn’t cut off contact entirely, they’d spoken and messaged, but the little reminders, the calm reassurances, those had vanished and Will had felt their absence like a void.

The dogs helped a bit, but not enough. Will tried to get himself stabilized, dropping down into a pile of dogs in between tidying the house, but by the time Hannibal arrived, he was still drooping. He all but threw himself into Hannibal’s arms, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole,” he mumbled, words muffled by the thick fabric of Hannibal’s suit jacket. 

Hannibal placed a tentative hand atop Will’s curls. “I’m at a loss as to what I could have possibly done this time.”

“You know what you did,” Will told him petulantly. He’d made Will so content to be cared for, and then taken it all away. “You left me to sink.”

“Ah.” Hannibal gently carded his fingers through Will’s hair. “Did you not have a good day, then?”

“No,” Will complained, pushing back and away from Hannibal’s comforting touch, “And you knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t realize-” _How much you did for me. How much I needed it. How much I _**_liked_** _it. _“-you should have explained it to me,” He said instead.

Hannibal hummed, set down his overnight bag and shouldered off his jacket before approaching Will again, reaching out only when Will made it clear he wanted the contact.

“That was a failing on my part,” he agreed, stroking soothingly beneath Will’s eye. “The lifestyle we enjoy together sexually extends further out beyond that. Far beyond sex and sexual needs being met, in directions that range from cruelties to kindness.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Will sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into Hannibal’s touch.

“Aspects of BDSM involve control in a far less rigid ways than society often defines. Care, for instance. The taking on of decision making and permission granting in order to make every day life more bearable.”

“That seems pretty fucking rigid.”

“It need not be,” Hannibal assured him, stepping up to place his other hand to Will’s cheek as well. “It need not be more than morning reminders and pre-prepared meals.”

“You want it to be, though.” Will said, soft and hesitant, “You can’t fool me, Hannibal.” He paused, reconsidering. “Well, okay, apparently you _ can _, but not for long.” This last part came out slightly derisive, Will’s frustration welling up once more.

“It was never my intention to fool you,” Hannibal said, “regardless of how it may have seemed. I only wanted to make things easier for you.”

“And to claim just a little bit more of my life,” Will insisted, but there was little bite in his voice. He had been through a rough two days. At this point, Hannibal making things easier for him sounded wonderful. 

“Can I be blamed for wanting to be a more prominent feature in your life?”

“Yes,” Will said, with an embarrassed but pleased flush to his cheeks. He looked away, towards the kitchen Hannibal had filled for him, the place where Hannibal cooked for the two of them, where their conversations were warm and reassuring. Hannibal was already a prominent feature, bleeding into Will’s life in slow increments that Will did not want to stop. 

“Some of it…” Will sighed. “I guess we could… talk about doing this. Doing a little of it. Preferably with my knowledge and consent this time. But you have to be honest about what you want. Don’t dull it down because you’re worried you’ll scare me.”

Hannibal kissed Will’s forehead and directed him to join Hannibal on the porch as he poured wine for himself and brought out a bottle of beer for Will. The dogs meandered around them, ducking their muzzles into upturned hands, licking against spread fingers. Winston made himself comfortable at Will’s feet as the others continued their lazy explorations of the grounds.

“There is a term in BDSM - TPE,” Hannibal told him, crossing one leg over the other as he held his wineglass. “Total Power Exchange. When one partner in the relationship takes control of decision-making for the other.”

“That seems extreme,” Will admitted, taking a slow drink of beer. He watched Hannibal as he watched Will, relaxed, comfortable, _ wanting _ to be here with Will, despite every bloody thing that should have pushed him away by now.

“For some people, such an exchange offers safety and security. The ability to rely on another to keep them safe when they feel they themselves cannot.”

It made sense. Will doubted he wanted to be quite so trusting but the idea of no longer facing consequences for his actions? That would be incredibly freeing. He didn’t answer, just let his mind drift and consider. It didn’t strike as harsh a panic in him that it should have. That alone was answer enough for Will.

“You are more than capable of taking care of yourself, Will, I’ve no doubt of it. I would hardly presume to take your freedom when I hold such affection for your independence.” He smiled as Will did, fond. “But it pleases me greatly to be able to care for you. To make our meals, to remind you of the minutiae of your days when more important things are at the forefront of your mind, to feed and free your dogs when work keeps you late."

Hannibal took a slow sip of wine, adding, "to bring you pleasure."

“And pain.”

“Oh, certainly pain.” Hannibal grinned, narrowing his eyes at his companion.

“Sadist,” Will said fondly.

“Masochist,” Hannibal accused.

But he hadn’t been. Not before Hannibal. Before Hannibal, Will had been quite content with just… sex. If he had it, he had the basics. If he didn’t have it, he got along just fine.

Now, Will found he was insatiable. He craved things. He liked being sprawled out beneath Hannibal. Made to wait - or worse, made not to, and then thoroughly enjoyed by Hannibal while Will was still gasping in the aftershocks. He liked to be spanked. He liked- and here was the part where Will hid a red face in another swig of beer- he liked to be commanded, and he had liked being punished even more. 

Was it so bad, to give up a little more control? To risk a punishment outside of the bedroom, rather than one based entirely around a game of lust? Hannibal’s hands were so steady, and so very large, and Will had broken so nicely beneath them. 

The question, then, was not ‘whether or not?’ The question was ‘slowly, or straight into the deep end?’ Gently eased in, or shown everything so there was no chance to chicken out?

“You’ll have to be patient with me,” Will mused, “It was hard enough to accept your brand of care. If there are also rules you’d like to enact, I can’t promise to take to them easily.”

“Both care and rules will need to be negotiated between us,” Hannibal replied, setting both feet to the porch and leaning to press his elbows to his knees. “I only want to give help where it is needed. So as you find things you feel would be better handled by me, I will take them from you.”

Will blinked, quiet a moment as he considered the words over the dregs of his beer. Hannibal’s form of possession was an interesting one; it was total, but only if mutually agreed upon. It was absolute, but it wasn’t cruel. In truth, part of Will had immediately expected Hannibal to demand he change his work hours, or take up the goddamn gym.

“What you were doing before,” he said after a while. “Before yesterday, before this afternoon. Those were… that was nice. I liked that.”

“Alright,” Hannibal leaned near enough to rest his chin against Will’s shoulder, just breathing him in. Will tilted his head against him and laughed quietly.

“Who would have thought that not getting a goddamn text message from you would keep me awake til three in the fucking morning.”

Hannibal hummed his displeasure at the information but didn’t say anything, instead just nosed softly against Will’s cheek until the other released a heavy breath and relaxed further against him.

“Certain routines would be easier to maintain with proximity,” he pointed out. Will snorted.

“I can’t expect you to come this far out just to make sure I sleep.”

“Perhaps not this far out.”

Will blinked, pulled back just enough to look at Hannibal properly. “I have _ seven _ dogs, Hannibal,” he reminded him unnecessarily as Winston raised his head and yawned before flopping down against Will once more. “Your house probably wouldn’t survive the onslaught.”

“I was thinking we find a home that suits both our needs,” Hannibal replied easily. “A comfortable distance from the city, with access to the wilderness that brings you and your dogs such joy.”

Will stared at Hannibal for a long moment, until the silence began to prick at his conscience. “You’re serious,” He finally said. “You want to move in together. You want to pick a house, _ together _.”

“I do.” Hannibal clasped his hands together in his lap, still leaning towards Will. Gravitating, almost. He always did that, always put himself close to Will, close enough to touch, or to nuzzle into the hollow of Will’s throat, or to pull him into a hug that Will hadn’t even known he needed. 

Will thought about it. He thought about fresh breakfast in the morning, about kissing goodbye over coffee. He thought about nights like this, outside, the dogs milling about their feet. He thought about sharing lives, about the inevitable click of their pieces together, and he thought about how every night for _ months _ he had gone to bed thinking of Hannibal. He slept better underneath Hannibal, pinned by his heavy weight, warmed by the heat of his body. He woke better to a hand in his hair and lips against his forehead. 

“Okay,” Will said, because there had never been another choice, not now, not when they were so thoroughly intertwined already. “Okay, let’s move in together.” Feeling a little bit bolder, he added, “and we can set up whatever routines you want. Or that we want, I guess. Together. Hit me with your best shot.” Hannibal hadn’t scared him off before with his laminated list - still tucked into Will’s bedside drawer- and he wouldn’t scare him off now. There was too much still to try, to learn about each other. Will leaned halfway out of his chair, crowding into Hannibal’s space to steal a kiss.

Hannibal kissed back with a hum, a smile warm against Will before they pulled away.

“Let’s start with dinner,” Hannibal said instead, leaning to kiss Will again, and a third time, before standing up. “Proper dinner. And enough rest to make up for lost hours.”

“I know what else I’d like to make up for.”

“If you’re good,” was all Hannibal said, holding open the door for Will to walk through first, and waiting patiently for Winston to stretch his front paws, then his back, before following his master in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I believe I’ve found another property to consider, as well,” Hannibal added after a while. “A cabin.”_
> 
> _Will snorted. “You don’t do cabins.”_
> 
> _“With cathedral ceilings,” Hannibal allowed, to Will’s glee. “There is also a workshop for you. And seven acres for seven dogs.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a real house XD check it out in the notes at the bottom!

While Will had offered so casually to fall full throttle into living together, it took longer than he expected to find a home that would suit them both. Hannibal had not been simply placating Will in his promises to make their shared space accommodate both his and Will’s preferences, and any option he offered Will found - to his genuine pleasure - to be truly a melding of minds.

There were also the logistics of the actual moving. Will didn’t only have seven dogs, he had his household, his shed filled with old boat motors and fishing lines, a garage with an old car he didn’t drive anymore and hadn’t been bothered to actually fix up. He had to either sell the Wolf Trap property or rent it out - both options Hannibal agreed would be easy to work with, whichever Will decided - and he had to pack.

Will hated packing.

But he supposed Wolf Trap was all of two floors. Hannibal’s home was damn near palatial in comparison and he couldn’t fathom how long it would take Hannibal to wrap his entire life up into neat packing boxes with hand-written labels.

Around all of this, life went on. Hannibal had his patients, Will had his work. Their week continued to be split between both homes and the sex… the sex was fantastic. It was beyond fantastic.

It was early morning - a weekend, because Will knew he didn’t have to get up early even if his body clock demanded it - that the idea hit him. It seemed to simple and so entirely amusing that he couldn’t hold back a grin as he turned in Hannibal’s arms and whispered against him:

“We should go on a date.”

Hannibal was already awake, as Will had known he would be. He could always tell when Hannibal woke up, because he stopped pinning Will and started holding him, curled back to chest with his nose pressed up at the nape of Will’s neck. 

Hannibal’s hair was mussed and his eyes still half-lidded from the sleep he’d only just shaken off, but he still looked unfathomably pleased. “A date?” He whispered back, leaning forward until their foreheads touched and their noses brushed together. “What did you have in mind?”

Will was feeling impulsive this morning, and more than that, he enjoyed putting that smile on Hannibal’s face. “What would you pick, if we said you were in charge?” There were more and more little moments like this. Hannibal had returned to leaving meals and sending affectionate text reminders, but they had also started to branch out just a tiny bit into the exchange of power Hannibal had suggested. Will would ask Hannibal for help with an outfit, if Hannibal had stayed the night, or Hannibal would make a suggestion about Will’s lunch hour that was not entirely suggestion. 

Hannibal took none of it for granted. He gave Will’s question some thought, closing his eyes. “Hmm… Dinner, certainly.”

“_ You _ would give someone else control over a meal?”

Hannibal’s smile pulled bright for just a moment before relaxing a little. “Its preparation,” he allowed. “Thorough research into the establishment would of course be done prior to our arrival.”

“Of course,” Will laughed, shaking his head and leaning in to kiss Hannibal softly. “And? After dinner?”

Hannibal cracked an eye open to look at Will, closed it again. “Music,” he decided. “Something worth both of our time. Jazz, perhaps, or blues.”

“Not the opera?”

“You don’t care for the opera,” Hannibal replied. And there was no rancor there, no teasing to suggest that Will’s tastes were not as refined or as high brow as Hannibal’s. Both knew they weren’t. Neither cared.

“You do, though,” Will reminded him. “And you do a lot for me.” That was an understatement, certainly, but Hannibal didn’t look as though he was going to hold it against him.

“I enjoy the opera,” Hannibal agreed, “And I’ll enjoy it all the more knowing that I’ll be coming home to you, and you won’t be so unfathomably bored and irritated as to shut me out of my own bedroom.”

“Am I allowed to do that?” Will asked with a teasing grin. Hannibal peeked at him again, his own smile just as amused.

“No, absolutely not.”

Will laughed. “Alright then, no opera. Music, though. Music, as in a concert, or is this the sort of thing where I’m expected to know how to dance more than the junior prom slow-dance shuffle?”

“Does one often dance to jazz?” Hannibal asked in reply, pushing up on rest on his elbow and look at Will buried in the pillows. He considered. In truth, he would love to take Will to a place they could dance together, cheek to cheek and pressed close. Perhaps one day, when Will felt like giving in to another challenge his incredible mind would inevitably set for him, Hannibal would take him to learn ballroom dancing.

“A venue,” Hannibal decided at last, “where we can choose to dance ourselves or merely take the atmosphere in.”

“Would I need a suit?”

“Do you have a suit?”  
“I could find a suit.”

Hannibal smiled, amused, and drew his hand through Will’s hair, pushing curls up behind his ear before leaning in to kiss him deeply. “Perhaps not this time,” he whispered, settling into bed again. “This time, dress comfortably, for dinner and music.”

He wrapped Will in a warm embrace again and breathed against his hair. It wasn’t that neither had not wanted to go on a date beyond either of their homes, it was that the opportunity never presented itself before.

“I believe I’ve found another property to consider, as well,” Hannibal added after a while. “A cabin.”

Will snorted. “You don’t do cabins.”

“With cathedral ceilings,” Hannibal allowed, to Will’s glee. “There is also a workshop for you. And seven acres for seven dogs.”

Will’s amusement took a more serious turn. “That’s… Hannibal, that sounds fantastic.” He’d expected it would be a fight every step of the way to accommodate Hannibal’s more unique tastes, but so far everything Hannibal had showed him had been surprisingly pleasant, if not quite right for the two of them. “How was the kitchen?”

“Surprisingly adequate,” Hannibal told him, “Two ovens, two sinks. A wine rack set into the island, though I’ll still need more storage for those I don’t use as often.”

Will hummed thoughtfully. “When can we see it?” If he knew Hannibal, and by now he was certain he did, he’d already scheduled something. 

“Tuesday. You could end your office hours early,” he added with a teasing smile. Will groaned. 

“I terrorize my students specifically so I don’t have to have office hours. One day you’ll cave on that.”

“Will I?” 

“You’re the only one who’s ever made any use of them.”

Hannibal’s grin grew slightly less teasing, and slightly more feral. “It’s been too long since I’ve visited your work. You must be growing bored.”

“Don’t,” Will laughed, shoving playfully against him. “I mean it. Otherwise I won’t be able to sit in my damn office without getting a boner.”

“I suppose that would incentivise you to spend more time there,” Hannibal mused, moving as if to reach across Will for something and pinning him flat to the bed instead. It was still early, too early for anything, and they were at Hannibal’s for the weekend; no dogs to watch them, or need to be let out and back in again.

Hannibal rolled his hips deliberately and slowly against Will beneath him, and kissed under his jaw when Will sighed warm by his cheek.

“More operant conditioning?” Will joked, draping his arms over Hannibal and pressing his fingers against his back. He was half-hard already from it just being morning, and Hannibal like this… Hannibal in any way, actually, was enough to stir sharp interest.

“Not this morning I don’t think,” Hannibal replied, kissing Will chastely before holding himself up above him. “I was thinking a standard slow lovemaking.”

Will snorted, pressing a hand to his face as Hannibal smiled at him and kissed teasingly against his fingers. “Slow,” he added, voice dropping lower, quieter, “deep, enough to have you begging me before we’ve done nothing more than shift together.”

Hannibal could always pull pleas from Will, but his ego didn’t need the boost. Will peered at him from between his fingers, allowing Hannibal to pull his hand away and press kisses to the palm. “You live to torment me,” Will whispered, laughing quietly as Hannibal shifted his kisses to Will’s wrist. 

“Only in the best ways,” Hannibal promised. He grazed his teeth over the thrum of Will’s pulse, mouthing his way along the blue veins that showed through translucent skin. 

Will shifted beneath him, bringing up his knees to cage Hannibal between his thighs. They’d slept bare, skin to skin, and now he arched and twisted until they rubbed together fully. 

“Slow,” Hannibal reminded him, “slow and sweet until you cry for me.”

“Go slow _ after _ you get inside me. Then I’ll cry all you want.” Will squirmed, reaching out in a failed attempt to snag the lube from the bedside table. “God, why is your bed so _ huge?” _

“I need the space to properly enjoy you.” Hannibal captured Will’s hand again, placing kisses along his throat until Will let out a whimper. 

“Tease,” Will breathed, letting his eyes close and his body relax heavy against the bed. Hannibal’s mouth sent goosebumps over his skin, tickling and too-hot all at once. Will bit his own lip and furrowed his brows, keeping his hands where Hannibal had placed it but allowing his body to undulate upwards against the one heavy atop him.

He loved how easily Hannibal could cover him, how comfortably they fit together in bed and beyond it, whether slotted in side by side or face to face or back to chest as one of them cooked and the other gave direction.

“You gonna make me come before you fuck me?” Will whispered, feeling his cheeks heat even as he smiled, feeling more than hearing Hannibal hum in consideration above him.

“Should I?” he asked. “Have you so sensitive you respond to my mere breath against your skin?”

Will was always that responsive with Hannibal. He sometimes felt that Hannibal read him as thoroughly as Will had ever read anyone. Will tilted his head to the side, welcoming the slick glide of Hannibal’s mouth, the gentle bite of his teeth. 

“You like it,” he said quietly, “You like when I ache for you. When it hurts and I squirm and sob and take you anyway.”

He felt the rumble in Hannibal’s chest, the growl he didn’t quite vocalize, still keeping his composure. Will tucked a smile into Hannibal’s hair. Hannibal was not the only one who could weave arousal with words. 

“You like to slip inside me when I’m still gasping,” Will continued, as Hannibal’s bites trailed down to tease at his nipples, “When I’m lost in you and can’t think about anything else. Hannibal…”

“Yes,” an answer and question both, as Hannibal took a nipple between his teeth to tug, tormenting the other with his thumb so as not to leave Will bereft. Soothing licks followed, Hannibal worshiping Will with his mouth as one hand slipped between them to tease knuckles against the side of Will’s cock.

“I like it,” he agreed, eyes up to catch Will’s before he took both of them in hand and stroked, words stuttered to silence for a moment and both moaned and pressed to each other, relishing the tight grip, the heat between them. “I like it because you do. Because you reach such euphoric pleasure when you are on the precipice of pain, Will, you are extraordinary.”

And Will knew he did. Countless times, now, he’d found that he enjoyed adding pain to their play. He remembered the first time Hannibal spanked him, whipped him with a belt, and brought Will to orgasm from that alone. He thought of being denied his pleasure for days, made to think about it until he ached between his legs. He thought about the time Hannibal made him come twice, so close together Will thought he would tear apart…

He’d slept like the dead, after, body so completely satisfied and contented.

“Make me come,” Will told him, grinning as Hannibal leaned nearer to nip a warning against his throat. “Please make me come,” he amended, digging his nails into Hannibal’s arms as he continued to stroke them both. God it felt good. To be held, and wanted, and goddamn worshipped by someone who so intensely wanted _ Will _.

Will arched back with a soft cry, squirming beneath Hannibal as he worked them both closer and closer, grasp slick with precome from one or both of them - Will didn’t care.

Will was beautiful like this, wanton in his pleasure, so sweetly open for Hannibal to touch and kiss as he pleased. He twisted his wrist at the top of the next pull, wringing gasps from Will’s lips, and sucked a bruise into the soft skin above his collarbone. 

“Please,” Will moaned, “Please, please, _ please-“ _his body jerked beneath Hannibal, spilling over Hannibal’s hand, over his own stomach in wet pulses. 

Hannibal worked him until he was gasping, until the sweet pitch of his moans tilted into aching little whimpers. “Like this, Will?” He whispered, “Just like this?”

“Yesss…” Will hissed, and again when Hannibal worked him open with slicked fingers, curling them to coax cries from him before Hannibal had even slipped inside of him. 

Remarkable, lovely thing. Hannibal took his time stretching Will with two fingers, with three. Teasing against him as Will jerked back with soft laughs and arched up with lilted little moans. He was insatiable. He was hungry to learn all that Hannibal wanted to give him. He hadn’t once, not once in their play, used the word Hannibal had demanded he choose.

Hannibal lined himself up, caught his hands beneath Will’s trembling knees and spread him wider as he sunk deep, watching his own cock disappear into Will.

“Greedy boy,” he breathed, spreading Will’s thighs by lying closer against him, hands set on either side of Will’s head. “Demanding your pleasure without waiting for it, no patience to come when I do,” Hannibal languidly fucked him, not nearly enough to drive him to hardness again, though that was hardly the point today.

He bent to kiss Will, allowing him to press his whines of pleasure against Hannibal’s tongue, before turning Will’s head aside to taste the sweat against his jaw, down over his throat where Hannibal hungrily sucked a deep bruise. His lazy rhythm didn’t change, but he arched up and adjusted his angle, almost purring in pleasure when Will cried out beneath him, grasping the sheets and holding on as Hannibal tormented his prostate.

“Perhaps I should make you wait one day,” Hannibal whispered, “hold you captive to _ my _ pleasures, taken when I wish, and as often as I like, and no relief for you until I’ve decided you’ve earned it, hmm?”

He had been gentle with Will before, asking him to wait without demanding too much from him. As his words drew eager little gasps forth, however, Hannibal knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. 

Will was a needy thing in bed, longing for touch, for Hannibal’s hands and his mouth and his words. Hannibal indulged him in slow, steady measures, until Will did indeed beg for him. First, soundlessly, breathlessly shifting beneath him, stretching out his hands to grip at the headboard, his body trembling. 

Then with his words, broken, gasping little things. Hannibal’s name, repeated with every deep roll of their hips together. Sweet pleas, neither for more nor for relief, just begging for the sake of begging. Will had never told him no, had never denied him, even when his eyes were damp and his head thrown back, even when he was whispering, “Too much, Hannibal, god, you’re too much.”

It seemed to go on forever. Hannibal was an unbearable heat, holding Will down, filling him up until he ached, he _ hurt. _He had never wanted to be hurt so badly, to have someone grind into him, pin his hands above him and lay cheek to cheek, slow motions that barely pulled them apart. 

Hannibal’s orgasm felt like one of Will’s own, a rush of relief, a gasp of need. Will caught his cheek and pulled him into soft, sweet kisses, holding him as close as they could be. 

Both were shaking, bodies overworked and nerves overwrought. Hannibal pressed to Will and lazily kissed whatever part of him he could reach. They dozed, sweaty and warm against each other until Hannibal woke not an hour later and gently eased himself off of Will to get to the bathroom.

He cleaned himself up, washed Will clean, kissed him when he woke and nuzzled him until he woke fully, catching Will’s smile with is own.

“Breakfast, I think,” Hannibal told him. “Coffee. And I would very much like to show you the house, before you see it on Tuesday.”

Will nodded, lazy and agreeable, and moved past Hannibal to brush his teeth as the other found his robe to wrap around himself before heading downstairs.

It shouldn’t have been so easy; to fit into another’s routine and pattern, to move alongside them like partners in a dance rather than scraping by as Will had with other relationships he’d found himself in. It shouldn’t have been this easy. But he liked that it was.

\--+--

There were other houses in the neighborhood, but the one they’d come to look at was set back, a long driveway between two bursts of trees. Not quite the woods of Will’s home in Wolf Trap, but enough to wander through, if one was so inclined. The driveway took them up towards the side, but when the realtor walked them around to the fenced in yard in the back, Will let out a low whistle.

“That’s _ obscene _, Hannibal.” Gorgeous, but obscene. The house towered over them, only two stories, but with a huge pointed ceiling for the main living area. 

“It’s perfectly reasonable for our budget,” Hannibal argued. As if he hadn’t set the budget, put the most towards it, and then had to be reined in by Will so that Will could feel like he was actually contributing something towards their home together. 

“I’m not washing those windows,” Will warned. 

“Of course not.”

It continued to be obscene inside, albeit in a way that brought an unwanted grin to Will’s face. The kitchen and dining areas were set on a level above the living room, overlooking them via a bannister that blocked nothing from view. He could imagine Hannibal hosting his dinner parties there, able to keep control of his kitchen and still oversee his guests. And of course, there was plenty of space for Will and the dogs to hide out for a few hours to avoid the party entirely. 

In truth, it was far too large for two people and seven dogs, but there was also a freedom in the space. They had enough things to fill the home, and comfortably settle, and there was promise there. For more. More of… whatever came along.

They trailed the realtor through the bedrooms - four of them, fucking _ four _ \- and over the deck that overlooked the property. They took the stairs down to the den before making their way across the - impeccably landscaped - lawn to the workshop. And here, Will couldn’t hide his pleasure no matter how hard he tried to.

It was a haven. The workshop the size of Will’s current cabin now, and fitted with workbenches, ceiling fans, fantastic lighting both natural and electric. He could see himself here, buried to his elbows in grease as he took apart an engine. Hell, he could bring his damn car here from the garage and he’d still have space to work around it twice over.

Hannibal watched Will take it in, watched the way his shoulders loosened and his smile came easily. He knew that this would win him over, he knew that Will needed to feel like there was a space within their home that was his alone, that Hannibal would have to ask permission to enter.

And Hannibal would have his space, as well, given the time to set it up properly.

“It’s still ridiculous,” Will told him, beaming. “It’s too big, too over-the-top, and entirely unnecessary.”

“And you love it,” Hannibal surmised, much to the confusion of the increasingly devastated real estate agent. 

“And I love it,” Will agreed. They stepped back into the lawn, giving Will a chance to take in the acreage that went with the house. Plenty of space for dogs. Plenty of space for the two of them. The master bath could fit them both at once, if they wished. Hannibal had a fondness for the care that went into bathing a lover, and an even greater fondness for the curls Will did so little with. 

The real estate agent still looked slightly alarmed by the time Hannibal turned to speak to her, but she adjusted remarkably well. All that was left to do was put in their bid and wait. 

And pack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The "cabin" our boys will live in](https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/545-Mount-Elbert-Rd-NW-Riner-VA-24149/115893343_zpid/). (Whiskey: as someone who lives in NZ, where housing prices are through the roof, the idea that a house and property this huge costs so little is gobsmacking to me.)
> 
> Can't wait for the next chapter? [Check out our Tumblr!](www.stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hannibal pulled Will’s body flush against his, pressing a kiss to his temple. “If this is the sort of behavior you’d like to start out with,” he murmured into Will’s ear, “I’d be happy to show you the sort of discipline you can expect.”_
> 
> _A shudder took over Will’s entire form, and he couldn’t help the sound he made when it did. There, that, that was familiar, that was something he could cling to in the ocean of this unpacking madness. For a moment he stood pliant, nuzzling slowly against Hannibal’s shoulder, before bringing his hands up to try to shove him away._
> 
> _“Come on,” he mumbled, groaning in displeasure when Hannibal didn’t let him go. “Are we really going to do this now? Really?”_

It took a week for the paperwork to come through, less than an hour for them both to sign their names in co-ownership of the property, and another week to work out the logistics of moving. Hannibal, of course, took that upon himself to organize.

The labor-intensive and pedantic details were sorted first: movement of large and fragile items would take place on one day, movement of boxes and less important furniture another. After that, they had their cars for the final elements and Will’s dogs.

Will had been grumpy all morning. He didn’t do well with change, even good change. Something about it always boded badly for him; he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong, despite the fact that for months now nothing had. Pessimism did have a way of worming into a brilliant mind, though.

He sucked his coffee through pursed lips and frowned at the driveway as he leaned against the trunk of his car, waiting for Hannibal to pull up. He hadn’t brought the dogs yet, that would be at the end of the day when they’d settled in just enough to allow the animals to explore without hurting themselves. They had hours before them yet of unpacking and rearranging and the prospect was… far from thrilling.

By the time the Bentley pulled up neatly next to Will’s truck, he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. Hannibal kissed him with a smile anyway.

“You look ecstatic,” he pointed out, amused.

“Unpacking,” Will said dryly, “Yay. Time to find out what broke in the move.”

Hannibal slid a hand up Will’s back to rest at the nape of his neck. Normally, Will melted under such a touch, allowing Hannibal to pull him in and sooth him. Today, he batted Hannibal away with an irritated huff. 

“Stop that, it’s too hot for that.” WIll didn’t wait for a response, hauling his suitcase, the last of the things left from home, out of the trunk and storming off towards the door. Hannibal watched him go with a raised eyebrow. 

Clearly, he would need Will’s latest ‘gift’ sooner, rather than later. Thankfully, he’d packed it away somewhere easily accessible, though he would still give Will a chance to turn things around. 

Will did not turn things around. He was somewhat pleasant when they unpacked the sheets first, ensuring they had somewhere to crash for the night no matter where they tired out, but by the time they made it to the kitchen and he had to find a place for his coffee mugs among Hannibal’s china sets, his foul mood had returned. A glass had indeed broken in the move, sending glass shards through an entire box, and Will’s muttered frustrated curses had drawn Hannibal’s attention. 

“Knock it off,” Will complained when Hannibal caught him around the waist and pulled him in, “We don’t have time for this unless you want to eat greasy pizza out of the box for dinner.”

Hannibal pulled Will’s body flush against his, pressing a kiss to his temple. “If this is the sort of behavior you’d like to start out with,” he murmured into Will’s ear, “I’d be happy to show you the sort of discipline you can expect.”

A shudder took over Will’s entire form, and he couldn’t help the sound he made when it did. There,  _ that _ , that was familiar, that was something he could cling to in the ocean of this unpacking madness. For a moment he stood pliant, nuzzling slowly against Hannibal’s shoulder, before bringing his hands up to try to shove him away.

“Come on,” he mumbled, groaning in displeasure when Hannibal didn’t let him go. “Are we really going to do this now? Really?”

“Yes.”

Will glared at him, but said nothing else. Hannibal watched him long enough for Will to blink his acquiescence before kissing him softly again, a reassurance as much as gratitude for the trust.

“Have a glass of water. Go upstairs to the bedroom, and I will join you presently.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Will.”

He took the damn glass of water.

He went to the damn bedroom.

He sat, sulking, on the ridiculously comfortable mattress Hannibal had brought for them to share and waited, glaring into the middle distance. It wasn’t long until Hannibal joined him, sleeves of his shirt and sweater pulled up over his elbows and a small box in his hands.

“You do push me so often to present gifts to you before I mean to,” Hannibal told him fondly, sinking to a crouch before Will and offering the box forth for him to open. “A housewarming present,” he elaborated, though that told Will absolutely nothing at all.

The box was free of any packaging or markers that might have given Will a hint as to what was forthcoming. As it was, he stared at the contents for a full thirty seconds while his brain struggled to catch up with what he was looking at.

A series of rings, gold-plated and curved into a very obvious shape. A tiny padlock, unlocked. No keys, which meant Hannibal had already retrieved them. Will swallowed heavily. 

They’d played around with denial before, just a little bit, but this was a step further. Where before, Will had been expected to withhold his own release, now it would be taken from him. Without the possibility of failure. 

“This isn’t a present for  _ me _ ,” Will accused, lifting the cock cage from the box with a single finger, “This is a present for  _ you _ .” It was surprisingly heavy, for something so small. There would be no adjusting to it.

“I would never buy you something you wouldn’t enjoy.” Hannibal smiled up at him, his hands coming up to rest on Will’s knees, thumbs rubbing circles through the fabric of his pants. “How you come by that enjoyment may be a bit more of a process than you’re used to, but I’m sure you’ll learn to appreciate it.”

Will bit back a snort. You didn’t laugh at the man who was about to lock your dick up. You just didn’t. “How long?” He asked.

“Until I decide to remove it.”

“That’s not a time frame, Hannibal!”

“It’s the only one you need.” Hannibal’s gaze was sharp, knowing, a physical touch over Will’s reddened face. The idea of giving himself up, of leaving the decisions to Hannibal, always shot through Will in a jolt of arousal and  _ safety _ that was nearly violent. And the bastard knew it. 

He made a very displeased sound that purred softly into allowance, something he absolutely hated that Hannibal could bring out in him. The look he was given made his options clear: you have a safeword, you may use it whenever you wish.

Both of them knew he wouldn’t use it.

Hannibal sat up and kissed him, parting Will’s lips with his own until Will kissed back with a sigh, turning his face against Hannibal’s when the other pulled back. He didn’t resist when Hannibal spread his legs, didn’t do anything but blush hard when Hannibal’s palm slipped between his legs and found Will already half-hard from the very idea of being caged this way.

“Well,” a sigh, pleased, “I fear this might hinder our progress somewhat.”

Hannibal cast a devious look up to Will before moving to undo his pants and belt, sitting up onto his knees as he stroked Will through his underwear. “It is bad form to give a reward before a punishment but, one does what one can.”

Will glared back at him, lips parted on heavy breaths. Hannibal’s touch was firm, even through the cloth. There was no teasing here, no build up. Hannibal wrapped his fingers in the fabric of Will’s pants and underwear, tugging gently. 

“Hips up.”

Will leaned back onto his elbows, raising his hips so Hannibal could strip him, placing a light kiss against Will’s knee, his thigh, up and up until Will threw his head back on a gasp. Hannibal nuzzled against the base of Will’s cock, gentle and almost worshipful. Will’s eyes slipped closed; he knew what Hannibal’s expression would be if he peeked, and he wasn’t sure he could bear to be the subject of such adoration when he still felt so off-kilter. 

Hannibal drew Will into his mouth, shallowly to start. He focused on the tip, exploratory little licks and gentle sucks that had Will spreading his thighs wider, begging wordlessly for more. Hannibal hummed around him, as if Will was some sort of feast laid out just for him. Will dug his toes into the carpet and tried to keep his breathing steady.

A large hand settled beneath his shirt against his stomach as Hannibal took him deeper and Will folded his bottom lip between his teeth with a whimper. Reminders, constant reminders of just how much smaller he was, how easily moved, how adored. Just touches, and kisses, and the way Hannibal moved about Will’s space like he belonged there, it felt more right than anything else had in Will’s life in a long time.

When Hannibal took him to the back of his throat Will cursed, drawing a leg up to wrap around Hannibal’s shoulders as he dropped a hand to grasp his hair. Will was close. Embarrassingly close considering just the  _ thought _ of the cock cage had gotten him hard. He wanted to come and didn’t, and Hannibal took the choice to resist away with his tempting mouth and pressing fingers and the  _ sounds _ he made as he damn near devoured Will.

It didn’t take long, and when Will finally came with a shudder, Hannibal sucked every last drop from him, pulling back to nuzzle at his groin with a soft, pleased sound of his own.

“Beautiful boy,” he told him, and Will grinned despite himself, shoulders relaxing to the bed in a preen. But then Hannibal was moving up his body, gently easing his chin up so their eyes met.

“Watch, Will,” he instructed, taking the cage from Will’s unresisting fingers and helping him sit up so he could obey.

The metal had warmed to Will’s hand, so it wasn’t a huge shock when it touched skin again, but Will winced anyway, sensitive from his orgasm and nervous now that this was actually happening. The little device looked far more complicated to put together than it should have; a ring over Will’s balls to sit just behind them, meeting a ring of the same size on the cage where they were locked together. Hannibal checked everything meticulously, careful to make sure nothing chafed or ached, no skin was caught where it shouldn’t be.

And only then did he lock Will in and look up.

“On the bed, Will,” he said, amused, pushing himself to stand so Will could see just how he’d been affected by his submission.

Will sucked in a breath, crawling slowly backwards towards the head of the bed. They’d gone with Hannibal’s ridiculously huge bed for their shared home, but he still felt like there was nowhere to go, like he’d only moved an inch before Hannibal was naked and crawling over him.

Hannibal was able to subdue Will in moments on an ordinary day, but with the noticeable weight between his thighs, Will felt more owned than he ever had. His body felt hot, every nerve ending sensitized. Hannibal tugged Will’s shirt off and set it to the side, returning with the lube. 

Will hadn’t expected much in the way of foreplay- what was the point when Will couldn’t respond anyway? He should have known better. Hannibal was as attentive as he ever was, leaving the lube aside to start with, preferring instead to shoulder his way between Will’s thighs and lick a stripe over his entrance. 

It was too much, and Hannibal hadn’t even done anything yet. Will squirmed, held trapped by large hands over his hips, as Hannibal opened him up with broad strokes and thrusts that left him shivering. He could barely take this when he  _ hadn’t  _ already come, and now it left him breathless. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered, feeling Hannibal smile against him and smiling as well, despite himself. There was a certain very tangible pleasure in knowing that Hannibal always  _ wanted _ him so much. Even in play. Even half awake. Even when Will was a grumpy bastard who didn’t want to unpack in  _ their _ new damn house.

“Hannibal -”

A hot kiss to the inside of Will’s thigh and a deliberate yank of Will’s entire body down the bed before Hannibal bent over him with a nuzzle, pressing their foreheads together.

“Will.”

Will snorted, he couldn’t help it. He turned his face aside and Hannibal kissed his cheek instead when Will wriggled beneath him. “Too much,” he mumbled, spreading his palm over Hannibal’s chest and curling his fingers through the hair there.

“Good.” Another kiss, just under Will’s jaw, and Hannibal reached for the bottle beside them to slick his fingers.

_ Too much _ , Will found, was just perfect. The overstimulation entirely blanked his mind, it helped him sleep, it made him feel like he was in touch with the whole goddamn universe at once. He didn’t hold his voice back as Hannibal worked him open, he grasped at him and tugged him close when Hannibal lined up and pressed just the head of his cock into him.

Too much, and not enough, and Hannibal teased Will with soft kisses along his throat until Will pressed his hands to the mattress and  _ shoved,  _ pushing himself onto Hannibal’s cock with a rough groan. 

“Impatient,” Hannibal whispered into his skin, “I wonder how long that will last?”

Hannibal was too coherent, considering what he was doing to Will. Will growled and wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s hips, arching his back into the motion of their hips. 

Will was impossibly aware of his own body, of the ache between his legs, the quiver in his thighs. His cock twitched, trying to fill and pressing fruitlessly against the rings, a sensation that drew another gasp, another moan. 

Hannibal reached for him, cupping his hands over the body-warm metal of the cage. Will could feel the soft touch of his fingers through the bars. It was possessive, as possessive as the grip on Will’s thigh spreading him wider. Hannibal’s thrusts quickened, sparks of pained pleasure surging through Will’s body. 

Hannibal worked him through, slowing down to let Will catch his breath, speeding when Will’s insistent whining reached that perfect pitch. He knew that he would leave Will satisfied. Just as he knew that that satisfaction wouldn’t last long once Will’s mind recovered enough to remember his predicament.

And that, truly, was the point of the exercise.

He breathed praise against Will’s skin as his own orgasm drew closer, whispered to him how beautiful he was, how remarkable, how good he was being for Hannibal in taking everything he gave him.

Hannibal came with a bite against Will’s shoulder, shuddering over him, laying heavy and pliant against his partner with a sigh as Will’s fingers found his hair and drew trembling through it.

“Well, that was,” Will just swallowed. He hadn’t really thought of an end to the sentence, and it hardly mattered. They lay together for a while, long enough for Hannibal to push up over Will on his elbows and kiss his nose, eyes narrowing to gauge Will’s mood.

He was much more contented now than when they’d come upstairs. Perfect.

“Feel free to take your time and rest,” Hannibal told him quietly, shifting to sit beside him, hand soft over Will’s stomach as he stroked there absently. “Or you are more than welcome to join me in unpacking the house. I’ll leave that choice to you.”

Will was too thoroughly worn out to feel guilty. He was practically purring under Hannibal’s gentle touch, turning his face into the bedsheets. “Just a few minutes,” he said sleepily. “I’ll come help you in a few minutes.”

Hannibal hoped it would be more than a few minutes. He had plans for Will, but they could wait until he’d taken some time to relax. With all the fuss of moving, Hannibal hadn’t been around to ensure Will’s sleep schedule as much as he would have liked. On top of sleeping poorly, Will was prone to putting it off altogether if Hannibal wasn’t there to hold him down. 

Hannibal stayed to pet him for a few more minutes, until Will’s eyes fluttered shut and his breathing evened out, and then he returned to the kitchen. 

Will’s dreams were featureless for once, colors and heat. The steady pulse of something inside him, warmth around him, and he wanted, he  _ needed _ …

Will woke gasping, thrusting helplessly into the soft mattress. He ached, cock straining against the restriction of the cage. Will hid a whine in a pillow, biting his lip against a sudden surge of arousal. 

There was no point to it. Will took deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough to reach for his clothes. There were still boxes to unpack. 

Downstairs, music was playing. Hannibal hadn’t yet unpacked his record player but his phone would suffice in the meantime. Will found him in the room they’d decided to dedicate to the dogs, setting boxes out around the perimeter that Will knew better how to unpack and sort.

Hannibal greeted him with a kiss and continued with his work.

By late morning, they broke for a meal. Something small and predictably premade by Hannibal already. They leaned against the counter in the box-filled kitchen and took their time eating. The enormous windows lit up the entire side of the house, they probably wouldn’t need to turn the lights on in summer til very, very late evening.

Hannibal walked Will through which rooms he’d started to unpack, which he’d left for Will to do at his own pace. The kitchen, of course, would be Hannibal’s domain, but they agreed that the bedroom and one of the living rooms should be box free by the time they ferried the dogs over.

Will stretched his arms over his head with a groan and smiled when Hannibal wrapped him in an embrace from behind, kissing against his neck.

“Take breaks,” Hannibal advised him. “We have the time, and you’ll need the energy.”

Will tilted his head until he could press a crooked kiss to Hannibal’s cheek. “I have energy,” he promised, “but I think you’re overestimating the amount of time we have. We still have the living room and bedroom to do, plus this,” here, he gestured in a wide arc to the boxes that still littered the kitchen. “We really need to- what are you doing?”

As he spoke, Hannibal had been nudging him forward. Will found himself with his stomach pressed to the kitchen island. He felt Hannibal laugh against his throat. 

“You have so much energy. Surely you can spare a little?” A hand disappeared from Will’s waist and tangled itself in his hair. Tugging hard enough for Will’s eyes to flutter closed, Hannibal guided Will to bend over the island, chest pressed to the cool marble. 

Will’s heart leapt into his throat when he felt Hannibal undo the button of his jeans. His hands trembled as he latched on to the end of the counter, gripping tight until his knuckles were white. They were both active, healthy men for their ages, but there was  _ no way _ Hannibal could be ready to go again, not this soon-

Will’s thoughts ground to a halt as Hannibal’s fingers found his entrance, spreading more lube around. “Where did you get that?!”

“Just something I prepared earlier,” Hannibal replied blythely, loosening his grip just a little on Will’s hair to allow him to duck his head, before he yanked it back again as he slipped a finger into Will. “Trying to stay one step ahead of your insatiable needs.”

Will laughed, or tried to, digging his nails into the counter and arching his back as Hannibal guided him to. He’d called the house obscene before they bought it, but this act was certainly worthy of the term. In their  _ fucking _ kitchen…

“I’m not that… insatiable.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Will,” Hannibal told him fondly, adding a second finger and working to draw the tips of both just around Will’s prostate, not moving to stimulate it properly, knowing that just this would be quite enough.

Will groaned, thighs clenching together even though that would offer no protection given his position. It had been long enough for Will’s body to welcome pleasure again, but not so long that his prostate wasn’t still swollen and sensitive. It felt good, and it hurt, and Will couldn’t get a grip on either sensation.

Hannibal worked Will over gently, slowly increasing the stimulation as Will began to writhe in his grasp. Will’s mind submitted, eyes slipping shut, but his body fought back, pure instinct working against Hannibal’s touch. Will’s back arched as he rose up onto his toes, as if there was anywhere for him to go, as if he could crawl forward over the counter. Hannibal hid a smile against his shoulder, biting down as he pressed just a little harder, fingers curled and rubbing expertly, offering Will no relief.

Twitches of a smile occasionally stole over Will’s face, only to be broken by gasps. He was beautiful, giving in so easily to Hannibal’s whims. It would only get harder from here, Hannibal knew. By nightfall, Will might not bend so easily. Hannibal looked forward to it. 

“Can’t.” Will’s voice was a choked whisper, echoing sweetly in the large room. “Hannibal, I can’t…”

“No,” Hannibal agreed softly, taking his time to deliberately draw his fingers free of Will as the other whined in dismay. “Perhaps you’re right, not just yet.”

He drew his clean hand over Will’s back, soothing motions until his breathing was more even. Then he bent to kiss just beneath the curve of Will’s ass, nuzzling there as Will spread his legs eagerly for him. And then he worked Will’s underwear and pants over his ass and buttoned him closed.

“There is still so much to unpack,” he sighed, as though the last few minutes of toe-curling pleasure hadn’t happened, as though they had been merely discussing the logistics of unpacking an entire household over a weekend together. “It’s possible I did overestimate our time.”

Will stared down at the marble countertop, his breath leaving a patch of damp condensation over it. He couldn’t move. There was a damp patch growing in his underwear, his body was tingling, and he wasn’t even  _ hard _ . Couldn’t be, with the cage locked around him, and god it was  _ locked _ , with an actual padlock, and that was just another log for the fire, arousal circling through Will in a constant burn.

He wanted to  _ kill _ Hannibal. Or shove him to the ground and ride him until he cried. But then, at this rate, Will would be crying from the very first thrust. 

Behind him, he could hear the faint splash of Hannibal washing his hands. Walking it off, as if nothing had happened. Will pushed himself up on shaking legs, turning with the full intent of saying… something, something loud and frustrated and-

Hannibal looked up at him with his smug, knowing smile. Will remembered that he was already being punished (or ‘disciplined,’ as Hannibal had said), and snapped his mouth shut again. He didn’t want to know if it could get worse. Or maybe he did, but he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“I’ll just… Go unpack the living room,” Will mumbled, fleeing the room. He was pretty sure he heard Hannibal chuckling behind him. 

After that, the day progressed at a snail’s pace, in Will’s mind. He found he could keep himself distracted for perhaps half an hour, before he turned a certain way, or bent over too far to grab something, and his entire body  _ pulsed _ with need. Then he had to sit down - or lie down - and remind himself that with Hannibal’s penchant for deviance, it could always get worse if he sassed him right then.

They crossed paths every so often, between rooms or just passing through to see how the other was doing. If Will weren’t crawling out of his mind with desire it would be like any other day for them; gentle touches as Hannibal passed, soft-spoken questions, comfortable silence.

When Will finished the living room he damn near whooped. Surely that would earn him something, having done the damn unpacking despite not only being unwilling, but also desperately needy. He had been good.

Hannibal liked when he was good.

He wrapped his arms wordlessly around Hannibal when he caught him in the hallway and pressed his tongue against Hannibal’s own, moaning low and needy against him.

“Finished,” Will purred, proud and languid against him. Hannibal’s smile narrowed his eyes.

“Have you?”

“The living room.”

“And so on to the library, perhaps,” Hannibal offered, catching Will’s chin to kiss him chastely before working himself free of his partner’s needy grip. “I’ll join you, I think.”

Will’s hands followed him, catching on his sleeves, his fingers, whatever he could grab to try and pull Hannibal back. “Or,” He said, hurrying after Hannibal when he merely shook Will off and kept walking, “We could take a break. We’ve worked hard. We could take a few minutes.” Or an hour. Or the whole damn night. Will wanted to drag Hannibal into their bed, pull him over him and move together until his body stopped thrumming. He wanted to head out to the workshop and pry the damn cage off with bolt cutters, although he got a little queasy if he actually thought about that for more than a second.

“We’re nearly done for the day,” Hannibal said, and when Will caught up he was smiling again. “Just a bit more and then it will be time to eat dinner and fetch the dogs.”

“Hannibal.” Just inside the library door, Will wrapped himself around Hannibal’s back. He leaned over his shoulder, his mouth against Hannibal’s jaw.”I’m feeling a lot better.”

“Are you?” Hannibal sounded amused. Will nipped at his throat.

“I am. You achieved your goal. Come to bed with me.”

Hannibal pretended to consider, relishing the way Will was rocking up against him, drawing his caged cock against Hannibal’s thigh in his need. They had managed to unpack more than he’d previously thought they would - given he had assumed Will would take his advice and rest more - and Will’s mood had shifted for the better but -

“If I take you to bed, I might leave you there for a while,” Hannibal warned him softly, smiling wider when Will continued to allow his pleasure-driven mind to plow ahead.

“Good,” Will mumbled. “I won’t let you go anywhere quickly either. Please.” He sighed, shifting to stand at Hannibal’s side instead, chin pressed to his shoulder, damn near pouting. “Please take me to bed.”

Hannibal cast him a look, turned to rest their foreheads together before humming assent, allowing Will to grasp his hand with much more enthusiasm than the gesture warranted and  _ pull _ him towards their room.

Will was an excitable thing, hasty in his eagerness. He stripped himself within moments, but when he reached for Hannibal, Hannibal instead backed him towards the bed. Will was entirely pliant as he tumbled backwards, but when Hannibal ignored his grasping hands in favor of rooting through the bedside table, he grew wary.

“Please, Hannibal. You made your point.” Will looked up at him, his head tilted to expose his throat, spread out and entirely open, the way he knew Hannibal liked him. Hannibal admired the manipulation, though it would get him nowhere.

“Have I? You still seem unclear on certain things.” Hannibal fetched the lube and the thick, curved plug from the drawer, watching Will’s eyes widen with no small amount of amusement. “For example, you seem to think you can choose when I’m done with you.” He set a pair of soft leather cuffs out on the bed next, the long chain coiled up between them. 

“Hannibal,  _ please- _ ” Hannibal cut off Will’s protests with a kiss. Despite his misgivings, Will melted into it immediately, gasping against Hannibal’s mouth as Hannibal pressed the slick plug against him. Will had been opened up enough times today for Hannibal to be insistent, easing it into Will until it was snuggly settled, perfectly curved to tease and torment. 

Will cursed softly and closed his eyes tight a moment. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. When Hannibal had asked him to hold his pleasure before, he had never been under this much pressure. Sure, he’d have to keep wayward thoughts at bay but this…

He surrendered his hands when Hannibal reached for them, chewing his bottom lip as Hannibal kissed the insides of his wrists, worked the thick cuffs over them. Will knew that Hannibal had kept those he’d given him, but they’d never used them. These felt much more comfortable, something that really juxtaposed in his mind considering what they were  _ for _ .

“I’ve been good,” he tried, a weak argument that faded in strength even as it left his lips, and Hannibal kissed him again just as deeply as before.

“You’ve been improving,” he offered in answer, amused when Will huffed a displeased sigh. He moved as Hannibal guided him to lie down, relinquished his control as Hannibal bound him to the bed. And Will had been bound to this bed before, he knew just how unforgiving the headboard was, just how indifferent to even his most earnest struggling.

Hannibal straddled Will’s form and bent over him, arms folded over the headboard and head ducked between.

“I will have you exhausted, Will,” he whispered. “I will have you aching. And I will have you, myself, again, because it will bring me the greatest pleasure to.” He breathed a kiss against Will’s cheek. “And you will be good for me then.”

Hannibal didn’t move further than to reach between Will’s legs and shift the plug a little, and then the fucking thing was vibrating and Will’s voice pulled too-loud from him as he squirmed.

“Oh that’s not  _ fucking _ fair -”

It really wasn’t. Hannibal watched with a pleased smile as Will’s eyes squeezed shut, his body jerking beneath Hannibal’s. He could have stayed right here and watched the struggle on his face for hours, but there were things to do.

Will was only vaguely aware when Hannibal slid off of him, off to unpack the last of the boxes that littered their bedroom. The rest of his focus had narrowed down to the insistent buzzing against his swollen prostate. No amount of squirming dislodged it, or even shifted it to give him a moment of relief. The chain binding him to the bed kept his hands firmly above his head, unable to do much but pull at his own hair as the need washed over him. Will’s attempts to dig his heels into the mattress and rock away from the intrusion only served in jolting it, sending bursts of even harsher contact through him. He was crying. There were tears on his cheeks and waves through his body, building higher and higher but never cresting. 

Hannibal’s unpacking was slow, unhurried. Will was a sight to see, thrashing fruitlessly in place, rolling his hips into nothing. The golden cage was slick with fluid, now, drawing Hannibal’s hungry gaze. He’d been hopeful that Will would take well to it, and Will had once again surpassed all his hopeful fantasies.

Will’s gasps turned into pleading little mewls, unsteady whines that shook and cracked as he was overwhelmed. He recognized the feeling building within him, but there was no way for it to reach the crescendo it usually did, and he had no idea what would happen if he was pushed over that point. Will shook his head, helpless, as the feeling rose higher and higher and peaked-

Hannibal set a box of ties aside, his gaze locked on the man on the bed. “No,” Will gasped, “Oh no no no-” And there it was, what Hannibal had been waiting eagerly for. Soft pulses of milky fluid dripping from the cage, down Will’s twitching thighs and onto the bedspread. Will keened, pained, shaking his head. “No, no- Hannibal  _ please _ -”

Hannibal hushed him, placing a hand on Will’s chest and rubbing in smooth circles. Will’s eyes fluttered open and found him, hazy and unfocused. He was not quite here, anymore, pushed over into a state that Hannibal had cultivated in him. He no longer knew what he was begging for, in his sweetly broken voice, and Hannibal relished this moment, this precipice between Will’s stubborn hesitance and his open trust. 

“No more,” Will moaned, thighs clenched together and then immediately spread apart, no relief to be found. Hannibal’s hand slipped lower to rub his stomach, then further, fingertips teasing just above the cage. 

“A little more,” he whispered, to Will’s obvious dismay. “Just a little bit more, Will. You can take it for me, can’t you?” Hannibal’s other hand found one of Will’s bound ones, giving him something to clutch at. “If you can’t, we can stop,” he assured Will, “But I think you can. I’d like to see you try, for me. Just a few more minutes, and I’ll be right here with you.”

Will sobbed, out of his mind now with both pleasure and pain and  _ not enough _ of either. He clung to Hannibal’s hand, shook his head, arched his back. He didn’t know if he could take any more. He didn’t know if his body was capable of not flying apart into a million pieces right then.

He gasped when Hannibal’s hand moved lower, over his spent cock, down to the plug, and turned the hellish vibrations off. That, at least, allowed his mind to whirl without his bones humming so loudly they felt like they’d shatter. Will bit his lip and blinked tears aside to meet Hannibal’s eyes properly. He sighed as Hannibal leaned nearer, forehead to forehead with Will.

“Sadist,” he sighed, fond, and Hannibal’s smile was radiant before he kissed Will.

“Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling against the man who so willingly took so much for him, so who openly accepted vulnerability regardless of the wrapping it came in, as long as Hannibal delivered it. He set both hands to Will’s face and kissed him again, deeper, a deliberate working of lips and tongues and breath.

Then he kissed lower, down Will’s sweaty throat, to his collarbone and down his sternum in a steady line. He nosed Will’s navel, nuzzled the hair at his groin, and when his tongue snaked out to lick Will clean through the cage, the sound Will made was music to his ears.

Hannibal was thorough, worshipful as he mouthed over Will. Will quieted after the first startled cry, but he was still gasping when Hannibal worked his way back up to kiss Will’s cheek. “Rest,” Hannibal insisted, “I’ll fetch the dogs.”

“Mmm, okay,” Will murmured, tugging pointedly at his bindings. Hannibal undid the chain, pressing kisses to Will’s palms as he inspected his wrists, but he left the thick cuffs still wrapped around Will’s wrists. “You’re in a hell of a mood,” Will noted wryly, curling onto his side to watch Hannibal go.

“I find myself enraptured by you,” Hannibal told him. His expression was soft. He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run his fingers over Will’s cheek. “There’s no time limit. I don’t have to make sure you set out on your drive early enough to get to sleep. I have you within my reach, and I’m finding the freedom to be overwhelming.”

Will gave him a tired, pleased smile, shivering at the intensity of attention Hannibal placed on him. “I’ll be here when you get back,” he promised. “And in the morning. And tomorrow night. It’s done. The hard part is over.”

Hannibal looked at him. Just looked, his eyes tracing Will’s features as languidly as his hand trailed through Will’s curls. Then he leaned forward, placing a final chaste kiss to Will’s parted lips. Will closed his eyes, lost in the gentle intimacy until heard a soft clink.

“In case of emergencies,” Hannibal said, indicating the key he’d placed on the bedside table. “I wouldn’t leave you stranded. I should like to return and find it in the same place, however.”

Will snorted, amused, but didn’t indicate either way what he’d decide to do. He watched Hannibal as he left the bedroom, listened for the front door, the sound of the Bentley starting… so entirely normal. So entirely like home.

When Will woke next, it was to the warm press of a dog’s tongue against his face and he couldn’t help but laugh. He’d had no doubt that Hannibal would get the dogs home, they trusted him now, greeted him like they greeted Will when he came by, but in the  _ Bentley _ …

Three, four, then all seven on the bed with him and Will felt giddy like he hadn’t in a long, long time. His animals, his chosen family for so long, in this home he now shared with another just as important to him. He greeted them all, talked to them, asked them questions. He watched as one by one they jumped from the bed to explore the room around them, beyond, into the ensuite, farther still out the door to the rest of the house.

Will stood with a groan and stretched, fumbling a little as he got his underwear and pants on before making his way to the kitchen where he could hear Hannibal moving about.

Cuff-adorned hands wrapped over Hannibal’s stomach and familiar lips found the spot behind his ear with a hum.

“In the Bentley, Hannibal?”

Hannibal paused in setting out the pre-prepared meal, hands coming up instead to grip lightly at Will’s arms. He hummed, leaning back against him. “I wasn’t sure where your keys were, and wasn’t about to disturb you. Did you enjoy your rest?”

“I did.” Another kiss, this one sweeter, a chaste brush over Hannibal’s jaw. “How did you even fit seven dogs in the Bentley?”

“It’s quite spacious, and the dogs are very well trained. Except for Buster,” Hannibal added with a wry smile, “who attempted to help me drive.”

Will chuckled. “Sat on your lap the whole way, didn’t he?”

“Every mile.” Hannibal turned in Will’s arms, cupping his face to bring him into a proper kiss, nuzzling his nose against Will’s cheek.

“You weren’t gone long enough to miss me this much,” Will murmured.

“I beg to disagree.”

Will’s flushed face was overjoyed. Hannibal wanted to commit it to a sketch. Perhaps he would, on one of those mornings where he roused early and left Will to sleep. 

Dinner was salmon in a plum sauce, with a side of chard and caramelized onions. They ate it crowded together at the dining room table, the rest of the table taken up by the contents of Hannibal’s herb garden. Will had promised to hang it for him the next day, but for now they made do, though Hannibal felt the scent of the herbs overwhelmed the delicate flavors of the meal. 

After the dishes were washed and put away, they sat out on the deck while the dogs explored the boundaries of their new home. Will tucked his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, clearly still tired from his long day, and they spoke quietly while night fell and the stars brightened. 

“We should go to bed,” Hannibal eventually whispered into Will’s curls, “Before you fall asleep out here.”

“Would that be so bad?” Will mumbled in reply. He hadn’t felt so blissfully exhausted in a long time. He was often tired, sure, often irritable from it, certainly, but it was rare he felt like he could fall asleep where he sat and feel contented with the notion. But he moved when Hannibal moved him, whistling for the dogs to come back in as he held the door open.

They were settled into ‘their’ room, beds for the moment tossed randomly about the place, a bowl or two of water there as well, just in case.

In their bedroom again, Will peeled off his shirt, caught Hannibal’s lips with his own as he worked open the doctor’s next. It was intimate, soft, lazy. Something Will knew he would get used to very quickly. 

Against all possible biological rules - according to Will, anyway - he was already aching for Hannibal again, caged and sensitive and overwhelmed but desperate to get his hands and mouth and thighs around the older man.

“I need you in me,” Will breathed, shivering pleasantly when Hannibal grasped his hair and tugged, just a little. “ _ Please _ , Hannibal.”

Hannibal hid a smile against Will’s jaw, mouthing over his throat, little sucking kisses that left Will trembling. The cage and Hannibal’s teasing had made Will desperately, beautifully needy, so open that Hannibal ached to touch him. He guided Will back into the bed, shedding the rest of their clothes as they went. 

Will put up no resistance when Hannibal bound him once more to the headboard, but he did let out a breathless laugh. It was rare that Hannibal asked so much of him in a single day, and they were both drunk on it, lost to roles they were now free to play as often as they liked. 

Will was reddened and hot when Hannibal rubbed at his opening with the pads of his fingers, drawing out a low hiss. Hannibal was liberal with the lube and gentle with his touch, drawing one of Will’s thighs over his shoulder to spread him wider as he eased his way in.

Will bit down on his lower lip, eyes closed as Hannibal claimed him again, filling him up, cock dragging over spots that were more suffering than pleasure, an addicting pain that had Will rolling his hips up to meet him. The wide stretch of his thighs only heightened the feeling, and his caged cock was trapped against Hannibal’s belly as they moved. The reminder was constant, Will’s need building in him, heavy and thick and wonderfully unbearable.

Hannibal lay over Will, heavy and familiar and comforting, rocking his hips in shallow languid thrusts as his hands sought Will’s bound ones and held them. Kisses, whispers, breath. Over and over until both were panting, both sweaty and needy and  _ close _ , as desperate for the other as drowning men for air.

Addicted.

So helplessly, blissfully addicted to each other.

Hannibal came without a sound, panting his need, his gratitude against Will’s lips as the other trembled, still on edge, still just not near enough, and watched him with glazed eyes. Will was floating, hazy and warm and in a place where his pulse sounded like a long-forgotten pendulum. When Hannibal freed his arms, Will draped them over Hannibal’s shoulders, eyes closing, body at its limit for the day.

He didn’t even ask Hannibal to remove the cage and let him come, he was beyond that. It didn’t matter.

Hannibal nuzzled into the hollow of Will’s throat, letting his body settle over Will’s, trapping him firmly against the mattress. He breathed in slowly, taking in the thick musk of arousal, of pleasure. Will made a soft, sleepy sound, clutching tighter to Hannibal. 

They’d made quite a mess throughout the day, but that could be dealt with in the morning. For now, Hannibal pressed kisses to Will’s jaw and rubbed a gentle hand over his side, guiding him further under into sleep.

<center>--+--</center>

Will woke with a pained need, a focused heat that had him shifting uncomfortably beneath Hannibal. Judging from the amount of sun pouring in through the windows, it had been nearly twenty-four hours since Hannibal had caged him, twenty-four hours of Will’s attention being constantly drawn back to arousal. He whined when Hannibal ran a hand through his hair, tucking his face against Hannibal’s jaw. 

His cock ached, forced small and flaccid between his thighs. Will worked a hand between them, even though he knew it would do no good, cupping himself through the metal with a needy gasp. 

“No more,” Will begged when Hannibal pulled back to smile at him. “Please, Hannibal, take it off. I’ll be  _ so _ good for you.”

“You have been so good,” Hannibal confirmed, catching Will’s jaw and holding him still as he kissed his cheek, as Will continued to fruitlessly rub between his own legs. “So good for me in your desperation. You wear it beautifully.”

He moved to have Will on his back, spreading Will’s legs with his knees as he settled between them. Another kiss, deep, to taste Will’s next plea as he breathed it against him. 

“I imagine if you were trapped this way for me, for a week perhaps -”

Will’s breath caught, his entire body responding as he arched up to seek Hannibal’s chest against his own, his hands clinging to his shoulders, leaving marks in their wake.

“A week of such blissful agony… I would need to milk your orgasm from you, then, did you know? Deliberate stimulation after so long bereft,” Hannibal clipped the consonants, licked the trembling pulse at Will’s throat even as his hand reached for the key on the bedside table; always in Will’s view, always in his reach as well, but left for Hannibal as he wanted.

As they both wanted.

“Perhaps another time,” Hannibal told him.

Will’s breathless sob was both relief and desire, tangled up in his head, too deeply entwined for him to tell where one ended and the other began. He imagined he could hear the quiet click of the padlock, though it was too small to have possibly made much noise. 

The cage, however, made a soft clinking sound as Hannibal set it on the bedside table. Will was afraid to look, afraid that even the sight of Hannibal between his thighs would be too much. His cock filled with blood, so quick, so urgent that it was almost painful in and of itself. Hannibal’s hands touched him gently, fingers over the swell of his balls, a light trail from the root to the tip, where Will was already leaking and damp. 

“Fucking-” Will bit down hard on his lip, throwing his head back as Hannibal’s hand wrapped fully around him, hot and huge and so very much after hours of nothing. “I can’t,” He gasped out, tasting copper, “Hannibal, I can’t, I won’t be able to-”

“Don’t,” Hannibal whispered, his breath hot against Will’s skin, low on his stomach, too low, Will didn’t dare open his eyes. “Don’t hold back. I have you.”

His mouth wrapped around the tip of Will’s straining erection, swallowing him down, bobbing back up again, and Will was coming before he ever made it down a second time. Hips straining against the arm Hannibal flung across them, heels digging into the mattress, voice breaking on some embarrassing, high-pitched wail. It went on forever, over and over, waves crashing over him until he was shaking, until even his very  _ skin _ was trembling, and it was suddenly too much and he was now begging for it to stop. 

And Hannibal did, he pulled away, he gave Will space and air and time to come back to himself as he rested beside him, just watching. Will was absolutely beautiful; flushed and exhausted, wide-eyed and aware of every single part of his body as he never had been before. Hannibal drew his tongue over the inside of his mouth, relishing the taste of Will still lingering there, as his partner slowly came back to himself.

He didn’t reach out until Will did. He didn’t kiss him until Will sought his lips first.

“So good for me, Will,” Hannibal told him again, adoring, awed. “Beautiful boy.”

Will hummed something but said nothing, too lost to bliss to think clearly at all, beyond how close Hannibal was and how all Will wanted, Will  _ needed _ , was to curl up against him and sleep. Safe. Wanted. Loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aching for more chapters without the wait? [We can help with that.](http://www.stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was there he’d thought of it in the end, of proposing. They owned a goddamn house together, without a mortgage. They had seven dogs, close enough to any sort of offspring Will had ever wanted. And Will knew for a fact that he didn’t need, or want, anyone else in his life. Not anymore._
> 
> _It was the inevitable next step for them. Wasn’t it?_
> 
> Sometimes if people are really in tune with each other they get the same idea at the same time...

Will didn’t know when the idea hit him, he just knew that when it did, it felt so obvious he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Perhaps he had, just not in so many words.

They’d been at the house six months; Will, Hannibal, seven dogs. It had surprised him how quickly they made it their own; how quickly the dogs took to the room appointed them, but still joined Hannibal and Will in bed to sleep, how quickly the spare bedrooms became an office for Hannibal, a semblance of an office for Will, and one left as a bedroom for the off chance they would ever host someone overnight. 

How quickly new routines developed.

The old ones stayed, many of them. 

Hannibal still made breakfast, and packed Will lunch, he reminded him to get coffee if Hannibal left for work before him and Will inevitably forgot to set the percolator. Will still sent him photos of his grumpy self in the mirror in various shirts, determined to convince Hannibal that he wouldn’t look any better or less unapproachable if he stopped wearing plaid.

They still fucked, often. Will tied up, struck, penetrated, overstimulated, and left entirely satisfied. They made love, more often, shared whispered words and pleasures, lazy touches and nuzzling. Will still woke up under Hannibal’s warm weight every morning and smiled.

They spent time apart, too. Hannibal in his study or the basement, curating his endless and unbelievably large collection of damn near antique wines, Will in his workshop, doors flung open to allow the breeze and the dogs to come and go at their leisure.

It was there he’d thought of it in the end, of proposing. They owned a goddamn house together, without a mortgage. They had seven dogs, close enough to any sort of offspring Will had ever wanted. And Will knew for a fact that he didn’t need, or want, anyone else in his life. Not anymore.

It was the inevitable next step for them. Wasn’t it?

Deciding, was, of course, the easy part. It didn’t  _ feel _ easy, it felt like a swirl of emotions so fierce that Will was sick with it. But it was a lot easier than what came next. 

Hannibal was the fussiest man Will had ever known, and he thought that with no small amount of affection. He liked things precisely arranged to his specific tastes, whether it be their house or Will himself, twisted and bent to Hannibal’s whims until they were both panting. 

He was a control freak. Will had teased him for it often enough, despite the ways he benefited from it. He chose their meals, their clothes, their dates. Will had once spent close to two hours being fitted for more suits than he would ever need, the threat of punishment and promise of reward both hanging over his head for his behavior. Will was pretty sure the tailor had picked up on the sexual tension. 

All of this begged the question, how did one propose to a man like Hannibal? And what the  _ hell _ kind of ring did you buy a man who was impeccably, expertly dressed, but also wore enough individual patterns at once to fill an antique furniture store? 

You didn’t. The idea that hit Will, all at once, was quite possibly stupid. There was a chance, and not one small enough for Will’s liking, that Hannibal would be… Not  _ upset _ , exactly, Will doubted he could ever be truly  _ upset _ with something Will had put effort into for him. But  _ disappointed?  _ Will was entirely certain he could disappoint Hannibal. He’d done it before. Would probably do it again. People in relationships, even the best ones, were all going to do it at some point or another. 

But the thought of disappointing Hannibal with  _ this _ , the thought of ruining a moment that should somehow be  _ perfect _ ? It ate at Will. Almost enough to give up on the idea entirely.

Almost, but not quite. 

And then… he had to keep it a secret.

He would turn a coin into a ring. One of a significant year, or from a significant place, or both.

Amusingly, this meant that Will did a lot of his planning during his office hours. Research into the particular techniques he would use, buying tools he’d need online and getting them sent to the office… it felt strange not telling Hannibal about it. It almost felt  _ wrong _ . He wondered if Hannibal could tell he was lying, could smell it on him.

He could, of course.

Hannibal had watched Will attempt subtlety for almost a fortnight, initially concerned then genuinely amused at his efforts. Whatever Will was keeping from him, Hannibal was certain it was far from dire, or disruptive to the two of them. And everyone had their secrets.

Hannibal’s - outside of his particular fondness for human origami - was sourcing an old Lecter family crest ring.

He had trawled auction houses and private collections, had made calls to his uncle and the contacts he had offered up. It would be amusing in any other situation, why Hannibal would suddenly ache for an heirloom from a past he rarely thought about voluntarily, if it wasn’t for the fact that he needed that past to secure his future.

When he proposed to Will, he couldn’t use a simple gold band, it just wouldn’t do. He needed Will to understand the permanence of Hannibal’s promise to him, the depth of feeling. It had been a while since Hannibal had found himself  _ nervous _ , but who, if not Will, would surprise him with unexpected emotions?

It took Will the better part of a day to make the ring. He was lucky that Hannibal was so indulgent of his hobbies; it wouldn’t be the first time Will had holed himself up out of sight and come back home smelling of motor oil and sweat. 

It just never seemed to be perfect. Will had enough material to keep trying, but he still destroyed three coins in frustration before he finally came up with something he wasn’t embarrassed by. Mostly. 

Will couldn’t imagine Hannibal wearing diamonds or fussing over huge, gaudy rings. Simple fit him much better, and was much easier to match a suit to. Still, it felt almost  _ wrong _ to be carrying around something that didn’t come with a glittery, oversized rock. Like he hadn’t put enough effort into it. 

Will  _ loved _ the ring. He just hoped Hannibal would, too. 

When Hannibal was ready, the plan was set. Will was a man of simple tastes, but Hannibal had instilled the love of a good meal into him, and so it seemed only right that they be out for dinner when Hannibal proposed. While Hannibal preferred to cook at home, they  _ did _ go out on occasion, so Will was unlikely to be suspicious, And, as much as Hannibal loved him, he wasn’t likely to catch on that the place Hannibal had chosen was just a bit nicer than the places they usually dined. As far as Will was concerned, anything that required him to wear a suit fell into the category of ‘fancy,’ with very little distinction in between. 

Will felt like he was sweating bullets. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to back out. There were people around - obviously, this was a  _ restaurant _ \- and wide windows that looked out onto the street and -

And.

Hannibal was worth the embarrassment, in the end. Will hoped, anyway. He really, really hoped that his proposal wouldn’t be taken with a gentle smile and a gesture for the check, followed by an awkward drive home in which Hannibal explained that while they did own a house together, were sexually exclusive, and he controlled almost everything Will did in his everyday life, he didn’t  _ quite _ like Will  _ that way _ .

The third glass of wine tasted salty and Will knew he had to do it before the dessert came or he’d not do it at all. Hannibal had been watching him curiously the entire night, obviously picking up on Will’s attempt at normalcy as anything but. Infuriating man. Will decided he loved him a lot.

As the second course was taken away, and their wine replaced by one that would compliment dessert, Will pushed himself to stand. Nothing unusual here, just a guy getting up to use the restroom, everyone did that, normal people did that. No one was looking. Were they?

Will didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t care. Because when he stepped around the table and immediately sank to one knee at Hannibal’s side, it  _ was _ unusual and people  _ were _ looking and at that point it really didn’t matter.

“Hannibal,” Will started, voice already too close to a whisper for his liking. The expression that met his made him grin. “If you’re going to tell me I’ve ruined the suit, I swear to god.”

“No,” Hannibal replied, blinking. “Not the first thing that came to mind to say.”

“Good.” Despite his amusement, Will’s hands were shaking. He dug the tiny box from his pocket, nearly dropping it in the attempt. At this point, if Hannibal tried to touch him, he was going to die. He felt like a sweaty mess, but Hannibal was looking at him with wide eyes that looked anything but disgusted. 

“I love you,” Will said, too fast, more of a shaky whisper than anything else, but he knew Hannibal heard it. “I love you, and I love our life together. And I wanted you to know just how much you meant to me. I want this to be permanent. I can’t imagine a life without you, at this point. So…” Will swallowed thickly, opening the box, afraid to look at Hannibal’s expression when he saw it. “Hannibal Lecter. Will you marry me?”

A few people in the nearby tables made soft sounds of pleasure, of agreement, of joy. Will tried to ignore them. Tried to ignore anything but the knees of the man in front of him because he couldn’t meet his eyes just then. Not until he said something.

But he didn’t say anything, and instead those knees straightened, and Hannibal stood, and Will was about to throw the hell up if he was walking out but -

“You wanted to surprise me,” Hannibal said, soft, quiet, as he moved to take a knee in front of Will, mirroring his position. “And I wanted to surprise you. Look at us both.”

He was smiling, all the way up to his eyes, to the way they were brighter than usual, wine and whiskey warm. Will breathed out in relief, ducking his head before looking up at Hannibal again.

“That a yes?”

“I will marry you,” Hannibal replied, reaching into his pocket for a box of his own, “if you, Will Graham, will marry me.”

Someone across the room let out a cheer. Will didn’t care. He couldn’t see anything but the box, the ring that it displayed,  _ Hannibal _ . He felt like he was going to throw up. Somehow, it was a good feeling. 

“Yes,” Will said, and it came out choked with a disbelieving laugh, “Yes, of course I’ll marry you. Get up, we look ridiculous if we’re both down here, and I was here first.”

“Given that the teenager at the next table has been filming us since you stood, I don’t believe we look as odd as you think. And besides,” Hannibal added, taking Will’s left hand in his, “I have one more thing to do before we’re done.”

He set the box onto the table, sliding the ring onto Will’s finger. It was an older ring, classically designed, but not as huge or unwieldy as antiques could occasionally be. Will skipped a breath, and then shakily pried Hannibal’s ring from it’s box. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, voice soft as Will slid the ring onto his finger, “Will, did you  _ make _ this?”

“It’s lira,” Will told him. “I looked into Lithuanian coins but… You were happier in Florence than you ever were anywhere else.”

Hannibal looked at the ring on his hand, made from a coin worth less monetarily than the smallest paper currency in America, and yet worth more than anything in the world to Hannibal. He didn’t say anything. He slipped a hand into Will’s hair and pulled him in to kiss him, smiling despite himself as people clapped and whooped around them.

This was their moment. This was for them.

“I love you,” Hannibal told him, quiet, gentle between them as he nuzzled his nose against Will’s. “More than I can say. But,” he grinned. “I’ve had a change of heart about dessert.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Hannibal pulled back and stood, holding his hand out to Will to help him up for no other reason than to hold onto him. “I’m sure we can find something to our tastes at home.”

Will couldn’t keep his hands to himself on the car ride home. He was chaste at first, but constant, his fingers trailing over Hannibal’s arm, his wrist. When his hand landed on Hannibal’s thigh, Hannibal had to threaten to bind him to the door with his tie in order to keep him from getting inappropriate. 

Judging by the glint in Will’s eyes, it was not a very effective threat, and sure enough, soon Will’s hand was on his knee again, and slowly creeping upwards.

“What am I going to do with you, naughty thing,” Hannibal murmured as they pulled into the driveway. Will grinned at him, his cheeks flush, the scent of his arousal beginning to creep into Hannibal’s senses.

“I don’t know,” Will told him, “But you’ll have plenty of time to think about it, since you’ll have to catch me first.”

He dodged Hannibal’s hand, tumbling, laughing, out of the car. He was off before Hannibal could get his seatbelt off, heading not for the front door, but for the treeline. 

It wasn’t anything they hadn’t discussed, and Hannibal felt a thrill shoot through him at the mood Will was in tonight. He liked him best like this, energetic and eager, vicious. He would not go down easily, not tonight, and Hannibal was eager for the fight. 

He kept supplies on hand- he had to, living with a creature as insatiable as Will could be- and in a moment, Hannibal was following after him, stalking towards the place in the trees where he could still catch a glimpse of Will’s curls.

Will didn’t know what had gotten into him either. He felt giddy. He felt like a teenager with a crush, but it was better,  _ he  _ was better, he was engaged to a man he loved and who loved him back. Will moved as soon as he knew Hannibal could see him. No use making it too easy for him, he knew Hannibal would catch him far quicker than Will could hide from him and there was a thrill in that, too. He wanted to be caught. He wanted to be caught by Hannibal.

These woods were not as dense as the ones back in Wolf Trap, but it didn’t matter. Seven acres of land stretched a fair far way and their closest neighbours were even farther still. They had the freedom to stalk and run and claim.

Will had to suppress a laugh.

Feral. He felt  _ feral _ .

And while Hannibal was near-silent within the house, here, he did make a shiver of noise, unable to avoid all the fallen branches or leaves, and Will had at least some idea of how close he was.

Or he thought so.

A brush of warmth against his cheek and Will cursed, nearly tripped over himself backing away, grinning at Hannibal  _ right there _ before him.

“I said catch,” Will reminded him, already breathless, poised on his toes to run. “Not touch.”

“I’ll catch you,” Hannibal assured him.

Will licked his lips and took another step back. Hannibal mirrored him, a slow, cautious step, as though Will were a skittish fawn. One more step, and Will grinned at him, turned, and bolted.

He’d let Hannibal get too close. His footsteps snapped twigs mere feet behind Will, and Will couldn’t help but laugh. He was exhilarated, his heart thrumming in his ears, his hair loosened from its gel and beginning to curl up again. It was a chilly night, but he felt overheated in his suit. He loosened his jacket and flung it behind him, snickering when he heard Hannibal stumble over it.

The bright white of his button-down shirt only made him easier to spot. Hannibal left the jacket where it lay, there would be little to salvage when he was done with Will, anyway. 

Neither of them could run forever, but Hannibal had far more experience with cat and mouse games than Will did. He caught Will after only a minute or two longer, bringing him down to the ground with an arm around his waist and a hand on his throat.

“I’ve caught you,” He whispered into Will’s ear, feeling him squirm back against Hannibal, “No more chances, wild thing.” 

Will kicked out, laughed when that did nothing at all. He bucked up, which did even less. Hannibal’s weight on him was such a comfort, such a deeply sought safety that he found it difficult to  _ want _ to get away from it. But he tried again, another twist, another shove, an old maneuver he hadn’t used since his police days to break Hannibal’s hold on him and he crawled forward another few feet.

A hand to his belt and one to his ankle sprawled Will in the dry leaves, and he laughed again, exhilarated and pleased, squirming to turn onto his back so he could grab Hannibal’s lapels and drag him down for a kiss.

It was brutal. Claiming and messy and hot, and Will hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Their sex was never boring, never wanting, but once in a while he needed this again; this push and pull of power, this demanding petulance he could usually curb.

He drew his knees up and kicked at the ground to turn them, straddling Hannibal’s torso for one moment of triumph before the world spun again and Will found himself pinned once more, on his stomach this time, Hannibal’s hand at the back of his neck.

“Like a naughty puppy,” Hannibal told him fondly, “a brat, through and through.”

“Are you going to talk, or fuck me?”

“I can do both.”

“Don’t do both,” Will laughed, feigning a struggle until Hannibal slapped hard against one clothed thigh and bent to press his teeth against Will’s shoulder.

“Then stay still,” a kiss to his cheek and Hannibal raised himself up again, hands down to tug Will’s belt free, his pants open before he coaxed Will’s hips up to start to undress him. But that was all Will needed to squirm to lie on his back again, shoving against the ground to drag himself free of Hannibal and try to get his feet under him again.

Hannibal grabbed the leg of Will’s pants, yanking them down around Will’s knees as Will scrambled up. To his surprise, Will kicked out of his shoes and let his pants fall, wriggling away from the hands that grabbed at his knee.

Hannibal had no idea why he thought semi-nudity would hinder Will in any way. Will was truly a wild thing, a beautiful creature who belonged out here, where the moonlight could graze his skin. Clad only in socks and a shirt that just barely covered his briefs, Will edged backwards, his eyes on Hannibal as Hannibal got to his feet. 

“You’re not prepared to go running again, darling. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Will grinned, wide and toothy. “Watch me.”

Hannibal lunged for him. Will dodged, just barely escaping the fingers that attempted to twine through his hair. He stumbled forward a few feet, until he could adjust to the feel of the ground, and then began to run again.

They were never going to find all the pieces of Will’s suit. No doubt the shoes were gone for good, and Hannibal would be carrying his wayward lover back to the house. Will was still quick on his feet, still hopping lightly over roots and rocks, but Hannibal caught up to him so much sooner now, this time letting his hand constrict over Will’s throat, the other dragging Will’s wrist back until it was pulled up painfully behind his back. 

“You’re only making this harder on yourself, Will.”

“You like it,” Will replied, teeth bared in a grimace. “Look how fucking hard you are,”

And he was, they both knew it. It was control, plain and simple, as with everything. Control of the situation, of the circumstances, of the outcome… and control in ways that Will couldn’t, and shouldn’t, know about. The chase. The hunt. The kill in lieu of the consummation he would get here.

Will,  _ his _ Will, fiery and stubborn and beautiful and tempting.

“Will you be good for me?”

“No,” Will replied, breath hitching as Hannibal tightened his hold just a little, just enough, before releasing his throat and catching Will around the middle instead, his own body guiding Will to bend over, to come to his knees on the ground.

This time, Will’s struggle was less to get away and more to rut back against Hannibal where he curled so possessively over him. Will was hard, too. Harder than he thought he could be from chasing each other through the forest. There was just something so predatory about Hannibal, always, just beneath the surface, that once in a while Will picked at it just to see.

Hannibal set his knees between Will’s own and forced them apart, bringing him closer to the ground, arching his hips up where Hannibal wanted him. A free hand caught in Will’s hair and held him still.

“Lovely,” Hannibal told him. “Wanton thing you are. I will have you.”

Will’s breath stuttered out of him, a slow huff of arousal, of need. “Hurry up and have me, then,” He demanded, nails digging into the dirt as he struggled under Hannibal’s grip. There was no give to the hand in his hair or the legs that pried his thighs open. He no longer wanted to run, now he wanted to infuriate Hannibal, goad him into something sharp and vicious and messy. 

Hannibal wasn’t at the right angle to swat Will’s ass, but he could dig sharp nails down the outside of his thigh, drawing red lines over his skin and making Will groan. He caught the side of Will’’s briefs in his fist, dragging them down around his knees, seams giving way as he forced them past the too-wide spread of Will’s stance. Hannibal set his knee onto the fabric, trapping Will’s legs where they were and freeing up both hands for Will’s shirt.

The rest of the suit was ruined, there was no use in fretting over the most easily replaceable piece. Hannibal looped his fingers into Will’s collar and yanked, sending buttons scattering over the forest floor. 

Will ground back against him, too impatient to wait. The buttons at the cuffs trapped his hands in his sleeves, and Hannibal punished his wriggling by shoving Will’s chest down and his arms back, trapping the shirt beneath his knee as well. 

Now Will was well and truly stuck, his chest and cheek pressed against the dirt beneath them, arms pulled back towards his ankles. He shifted, testing for any give in the makeshift restraints. He found none, a fact as thrilling as it was frustrating. Behind him, he heard the click of a cap. 

He laughed, purring and low, and preened. Of course Hannibal had lube with him. Of course. In the middle of the goddamn forest in their property when Will hadn’t even planned on this, Hannibal was prepared. He loved it. He loved him for it.

“Come on,” he muttered, groaning low when Hannibal circled a thumb and forefinger around his balls and tugged, enough to feel, enough of a threat for Will’s breathing to stutter and his cock to harden more. Hannibal thought briefly of the night he’d tied Will down in a similar predicament, but with a rope connecting his balls to his ankles, making any attempt to straighten himself out unfeasible and absolutely beautiful to look at.

He’d watched that struggle for an hour before giving Will relief.

He didn’t have that kind of time, now, but it was hardly a pity. He would have Will every way he wanted him, every way Will wanted to be had, now that they had all the time in the world together.

Hannibal upturned the little bottle, dripping cold lubricant over Will’s hole and hummed at the response. He held Will still as he slipped one finger in, then a second. Not taking his time to stretch, but allowing for the comfort of a slick entry. Will didn’t want gentle, here, he would be clawing at the ground if he had the freedom to.

Hannibal bent to draw his teeth gently over Will’s balls, still held tight in his grip, a warning, before letting him go and working his own pants open. It would be rough and crude and quick, and Hannibal only slicked himself with whatever was left on his hand before bending up and over Will again, nosing his hair, growling a foreign word of love to his ear as he lined up.

“I love you,” he added, in English, “you insatiable thing.”

There was no gentle push, no easing in. Hannibal shoved hard into Will, fingers tight on his hips, hauling Will back onto his cock like it was no effort at all to him. Will’s groan was nearly a growl, his hands clenched into fists as Hannibal drew back and then shoved in again. On a good day, Hannibal was just a little bit too much, filling him so perfectly deep, stretching him so perfectly wide. 

This was not a good day. This was a  _ great _ day, and Hannibal pushed his way into a space that barely had room for him, forced gasps and cries from Will’s throat with every thrust. It ached, it ached so wonderfully, and he was going to feel it for days. He was painfully hard, untouched and dripping between his thighs, and as Hannibal’s teeth sank into his shoulder, Will thought he might fall apart from that alone. 

“Hannibal,” he gasped, digging his toes into the dirt, his fingers, rocking helplessly on his knees, trying to give as much as he was getting, to return Hannibal’s thrusts with equal fervor. “Hannibal, I love you, god I love you.”

Hannibal planted kisses across Will’s shoulders, bites against the nape of his neck. Will writhed and whined beneath him, tugged at his trapped wrists, begged with the curve of his body and the arch of his spine for everything Hannibal could give him. 

“Touch me, touch me, please.”

Hannibal tucked his face against Will’s throat, sucking kisses into the pale skin. “No,” he said, grinding against Will’s prostate, dragging out Will’s keening cry. “No, you’ll come just like this, or I’ll drag you home wanting.”

"Fuck," it came out as a sob.

_ Should have been good _ .

He turned his head, lips parted over dried leaves and soil and not caring at all, because Hannibal was fucking him, holding him safe, marking him up because Will was his to claim, in every possible way.

Rough nails at his scalp and Will's head was yanked back, the angle change enough to spark stars behind his eyes with every thrust, every push Hannibal gave him.

And even in this cruelty Hannibal was worshipful, every breath he took of Will's smell, every thrust into his body, every taste of sweat and every whimper he drew, Hannibal  _ adored _ him. Will never thought he could be adored like this, so entirely, so mercilessly as Hannibal adored him.

Will cried out, tensing, trembling, and came hard, relief and release and the power he knew he held over the man behind him drawing a laugh that was almost violent. Raw. Alive.

"Fuck, Hannibal, _ yes…" _

Will bent so beautifully. Even like this, covered in dirt and debris, tears pricking at his eyes, flushed and keening with every twist of Hannibal’s hips. Hannibal liked him best this way, liked him best open and honest and fucked past his limit, body welcoming Hannibal even though it overwhelmed Will.

“Hurts,” Will gasped, and it sounded absolutely  _ reverent _ , “Hurts, don’t stop, don’t stop-”

There was only so long Hannibal could hold out, though, with Will so perfect and pliant under his hands. He shoved Will back down, draped himself over him and rocked him into the dirt and grass, fucked him raw and desperate, animals set loose. Will was tight and clenching around him, drawing Hannibal’s pleasure out, bringing him to a climax so powerful it  _ hurt _ . He flooded Will’s body with waves of seed that would drip down his thighs on the walk home, naked where Hannibal was clothed, beautiful and owned, bearing Hannibal’s marks for the world to see.

Hannibal pulled out, watching Will’s body clench around nothing, a thin line of semen already beginning to leak. He helped Will straighten out, dragging his briefs down and off his legs before Will could pull them back up. 

“I like you better natural,” he said when Will fussed. Will laughed and kissed him, wet and just a bit filthy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out our [Tumblr](https://stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/) for cool things and pretty things and kinky things!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So I guess we’re getting married,” he said, grinning, drawing his hands through Hannibal’s hair, messing it up just a little._
> 
> _“So it would seem,” Hannibal smiled, leaning to kiss Will’s cheek, up to his temple, nuzzling there. “Ceremonies where new information always comes to light that had not been pertinent previously.”_
> 
> _“Let me guess. You’re already married.”_
> 
> _Hannibal chuckled. “No. But I am titled. And once we’re legally married, you will be too.”_
> 
> _Will leaned back to give Hannibal a skeptical expression. “I’m sorry, you’re what?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly boys being far too fluffy for their own good. Go see bottom notes for details of things mentioned in the chapter!

Will would have bruises for a few days. Scrapes and grazes from the forest floor, bruises from errant branches and Hannibal’s fingers. And… Hannibal had destroyed one of Will’s suits himself, which would always be amusing to remind him of.

He stretched in front of the mirror with a sound of absolute pleasure at the thought.

Behind him, Hannibal was running the water for their bath, Buster and Cameo supervising. Winston was asleep on the bed, or pretending to be, and the rest of the pack were in their room dozing. Will turned when Hannibal gently coaxed the dogs out of the bathroom and shut the door, moving with languid steps to drape his arms over Hannibal’s shoulders and kiss him.

“So I guess we’re getting married,” he said, grinning, drawing his hands through Hannibal’s hair, messing it up just a little.

“So it would seem,” Hannibal smiled, leaning to kiss Will’s cheek, up to his temple, nuzzling there. “Ceremonies where new information always comes to light that had not been pertinent previously.”

“Let me guess. You’re already married.”

Hannibal chuckled. “No. But I am titled. And once we’re legally married, you will be too.”

Will leaned back to give Hannibal a skeptical expression. “I’m sorry, you’re _ what?” _

Hannibal ran a hand down Will’s spine, slow enough to make him shudder, and then wrapped his arm around Will’s waist. “Count Hannibal Lecter. The _ eighth _, in fact.”

Will glared at him. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“I’m afraid not. There’s even a castle.”

Will squirmed in Hannibal’s grasp as Hannibal’s grin grew wider. “You do _ not _ have a castle.”

“Oh, but I do. On several acres of land, with buildings for staff and animals.” He was clearly enjoying this far too much, tilting Will’s head to the side to leave a playful trail of kisses across his shoulder. “I told you money wouldn’t be an issue when we moved.”

“I knew your family was _ wealthy _ , I didn’t know you were _ nobility!” _ Will insisted, shoving ineffectively at Hannibal’s chest, “You didn’t think to mention it?”

“I was saving it for the right moment.” Hannibal’s teeth grazed over Will’s throat, turning his disgruntled huff into a tiny moan.

“You wanted to savor my reaction,” Will accused.

“I did,” Hannibal confessed, biting a little harder over a mark he’d already made, until Will slowly became more pliant in his arm. “I knew you would put up a fuss. But I like the sound of it already. Count Will Graham.”

Will made a curious noise, sliding his hands up and back over Hannibal’s shoulders, clinging tight to him. “Graham?”

“You needn’t take the name if you don’t want it. Myself, the castle, the title. Everything I have to give is yours, regardless of what moniker you bear.”

Will nuzzled at Hannibal’s chest a moment, keeping his smile hidden with the motion. He’d thought about what they would do with names, of course, he’d thought about far too much while turning coins into rings in the workshop. He’d considered making a stand and demanding to keep his name, knowing full well that Hannibal wouldn’t make him change it. He’d considered combining their names. He hadn’t even thought to ask Hannibal to change _ his _ name.

“I might need to practice at being a Lecter,” Will told him, tilting his head back to smile at Hannibal. “Perhaps I can pull it off by the big day.”

Hannibal’s smile was radiant, and he cupped Will’s face in his hands before kissing him deeply. When they parted, he gently turned him towards the bath.

“You’re mine, whatever name you take,” Hannibal reminded him. “Just as I am entirely yours.”

“Sap.” Will climbed into the tub first, reaching to turn off the tap before Hannibal joined him, sidling up behind him and pulling Will back to rest against him, half-floating. “Shit, now we have to actually plan a ceremony. Because I know you, an elopement ‘just won’t do’,” he imitated Hannibal’s accent poorly and grinned up at him. “You’ll want the entire _ thing _.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hannibal grazed his lips over Will’s temple, down to his jaw, indulging in a little lick at the sensitive place just behind Will’s ear. “Something small, tasteful. I’m sure you’ve a handful of friends who would welcome an invitation.”

Will tipped his head back against Hannibal’s shoulder, giving him a little more room to work. Hannibal took the opportunity, slow, steady drags of lips and tongue and teeth pulling blood to the surface of the skin, leaving a trail of marks behind. “You’ve never planned anything small in your life.”

“I have,” Hannibal said, “Dinner parties are hardly as intricate as weddings.”

“Not the way you do them.” Will sighed. “Nothing too ostentatious,” he warned, “or I’ll leave straight for the honeymoon without you.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Hannibal paused, his face tucked into Will’s hair. “Will,” he said slowly, “if intimate is your preference, there was one other thing I was hoping you might indulge me in.”

“If it’s on the list, I’ll indulge you,” Will replied, amused. Hannibal kissed him again and wrapped his arms over Will, holding him near. They sat quiet for a time, and Will could feel the tension in Hannibal behind him. He didn’t know if he should assure him, take back the joking tone, push him to speak… they had been through a lot together. They had been through some fantastic times and some very awkward ones, and now here they were, fucking engaged, and he was still nervous.

There was something endearing about that.

“There is a practice in our community,” - ‘ours’ meaning BDSM, Will had come to understand fairly quickly. “A ceremony between two individuals to bind them together intimately, a promise of fidelity and honor -”

“And obedience?” Will added, turning his head against Hannibal. “That would be a wedding.”

Hannibal laughed, a soft and pleased sound. “Actually, it is referred to as a collaring ceremony.”

“I’m not one of the dogs, Hannibal.” Will tried to keep his tone teasing, but there was a bit of nervousness creeping in, the uncertainty and resistance he felt every time Hannibal took just a bit more control. It was one thing for him to give himself over to Hannibal’s every whim, and another to acknowledge it out loud.

Hannibal knew him, as always. He rubbed his palm over Will’s stomach, coaxed the tension out of him with soft, careful touches. “There are ‘pets’ in the community,” he allowed, “but a collar is not exclusive to that sort of play. It’s a symbol of belonging. More like a wedding ring, if we were to keep with that comparison.”

“But you wouldn’t be wearing one.”

“No,” Hannibal said. His hand crept up from Will’s stomach, trailing a slow path up his chest and out of the water to cup his throat. His touch was gentle, but Will still ceded control to him immediately, going lax against Hannibal and letting himself be held. “It would just be you,” Hannibal continued in a soft whisper, “A sign that you were mine.”

“That I _ belonged _ to you,” Will murmured, unsure if he was irritated or not, unsure of quite a bit with Hannibal’s fingers over his fluttering pulse.

“But that would not make _ me _ any less _ yours.” _

Will swallowed, felt Hannibal’s fingers acutely when he did. It wasn’t stifling, though Will wanted it to be. Almost hoped it would be so he could immediately talk Hannibal out of it. But as with everything Hannibal introduced him to, it wasn’t forceful. There was no collar on him now, there was nothing but Hannibal’s hand, that gentled him and punished him, that Will kissed the knuckles of every morning and fell asleep at night to, moving over his skin.

With a sigh he settled heavier back against Hannibal and wondered.

Would a collar be so bad? Would it be as frightening as Wil had once found the cock cage to be? As intimidating as some of the toys they’d used that Will had ultimately loved? The plug he wore semi-regularly _ to work _?

“Would be a bit obvious, wouldn’t it,” he said after a while. “A perfectly normal guy with a massive collar on over his dress shirt. People might talk.”

Hannibal hummed, nuzzling Will’s hair as he let his fingers go lax and rest at Will’s collarbone instead.

“There are different kinds of collars. Ones made for daywear, easy to keep beneath clothing unseen. There are those made for play, play we needn’t engage in if our preferences don’t swing that way. There is a ceremonial collar, one for the bonding ceremony and nothing more. Elaborate and beautiful. Easy to see over the top of a dress shirt,” Hannibal’s smile was evident in his voice.

“It is different to conventional weddings, in that your symbol of connection would be more prominent than the one I wore.” he kissed against Will’s cheek. “I would not make you, Will, not ever. But in light of recent engagements, I thought I would make my interest known.”

It sounded like a lot. A lot of effort for such a simple thing. Will could see Hannibal accessorizing him with collars the same way he accessorized himself with ties and pocket squares, and he almost laughed. 

And it would be… intimate. Quiet. Just the two of them, so softly different from the bustle that their wedding was sure to be, no matter how much Hannibal attempted to reign himself in. 

Will took Hannibal’s direction, his instruction, his discipline. Was most likely going to take his _ name _. What was one more thing? One more way to prove that Will was serious, that he loved this man, truly and fiercely. 

Honestly, being collared sounded a lot less terrifying than being a _ Count _ , and he wasn’t able to opt-out of _ that. _

“Okay.” Will reached up to the hand that rested over his collarbone, guiding it back up to his throat. “Okay, but you have to guide me through this. I don’t know what I’m doing. And I want veto power over wedding food!” He added hastily, sensing that it was likely to get out of hand if he didn’t strike a bargain _ now. _

Hannibal laughed, drawing his thumb softly over Will’s wet skin. “What could you possibly hate about my food?”

“If you want me to invite friends, my friends,” Will turned in the water, careful not to splash any over the rim as he settled chest to chest with Hannibal. “They need simple things. Cocktail sausages. Fries. Nuggets.”

Hannibal made a pained sound and Will grinned. “Store-bought cheese.”

“Will, stop.”

“Discount wine for the fountain…”

“I will drown you in this tub,” Hannibal told him, and Will laughed, loud and happy.

“You can make the cake if you like,” Will offered, generously. Hannibal sniffed, offended.

“I _ will _ make the cake,” he corrected him, shifting his knees apart in the water to have Will lie closer against him. “And _ consider _ your unpalatable options for the reception, but not the dinner.”

Will just wrapped his arms around him, his cheek to Hannibal’s chest, and lay against him. Warm, safe, wanted. Loved.

\--+--

Hannibal announced their engagement in the paper, because of course he did. Will spent a week hiding from amused teasing and taunts from the lab crew before deciding that he absolutely did need them present for the wedding, if only to torment Hannibal the same way. He also invited Alana. And Jack.

They set a date several months away, plenty of time for paperwork and organization - that Hannibal happily took upon himself. Plenty of time for Will to fret about how frumpy he was going to look in a tux, even one Hannibal had picked out for him. But he found that the more he looked at his ring - the Lecter crest, as Hannibal had finally explained to him - the more he smiled. This might be some poncy ceremony for the crowd, for people to publicly see Hannibal take a husband and chatter about it over brunch.

For them it would be different.

For them, there was another ceremony entirely, before the wedding. And though not legally binding, Will knew that it would mean much more to both him and Hannibal than saying vows in front of a priest. Hell, Will’s dogs were the entire groomsparty, for fuck’s sake.

Will would not wear a suit, not for this, but he had Hannibal’s aesthetics in mind while he dressed. Hannibal had supplemented his wardrobe in the time they had known each other. Will still had a vast collection of flannels to choose from, but today he had selected black slacks and a soft sweater that hung off his collarbones. Something that exposed his neck for Hannibal’s gaze, something that wouldn’t get in the way of… what came next.

Hannibal, of course, was never anything less than impeccably dressed. Will stood by the foot of the bed, carefully not looking at the box on the bedspread. He watched Hannibal instead, watched the way his tailored slacks hugged his body, stared at the way his rolled up sleeves hugged his forearms. Hannibal had promised a scene afterwards, intimacy, connection. Will hadn’t asked for details. He hadn’t cared.

Hannibal shooed the dogs out of the room, stooping to pet the stragglers who hesitated seeking attention. When the door shut behind them, he turned, and he looked so damn happy that Will could barely stand to hold his gaze. Hannibal’s love, his affection, it sank over Will like a blanket. Will had never felt so warm, so cared for.

Hannibal cupped Will’s face in his hands, kissed him soft and slow and sweet. “Kneel,” he whispered against Will’s lips, and Will dropped onto the pillow Hannibal had laid out for him. 

It had been hard once, but now Will felt like he could kneel for ages. Especially when Hannibal looked at him like that, full of a sincerity Will had never seen him offer anyone else. 

The nervousness that flowed through him was different too; when once Will was nervous because this was new, all of it, strange and unexpected and almost unwelcome, now Will trusted the man who stood in front of him, trusted Hannibal to make decisions for them both, trusted him to tell Will what he could and could not handle.

He was nervous about himself, about his ability to meet high expectations. 

He was not nervous about Hannibal.

Hannibal leaned to open the box on the bed, Will still sitting high enough to be able to look if he wanted. He didn’t want to. Hannibal ran his fingers softly over the collar within, before turning to look at Will with a soft expression.

“It is interesting how wrongly things can be interpreted with an outsider’s gaze,” he said. “That ownership implies an imbalance of power, that submission implies weakness.” He drew a hand through Will’s hair, tugging softly, before cupping his cheek for Will to lean into. “A collar is a promise,” he continued. “From me to you, that I will protect you, care for you, love you. That your trust in me is never taken for granted., nor will I ever squander it. That you will be mine, in all ways, and own me just as thoroughly.”

Hannibal swallowed, looked to the collar again. “It is a gift that you give me, seeing my collar on your throat. It is courage of a caliber I do not possess, Will. you are extraordinary.”

He smiled wider, brought his other hand down to hold Will’s face up, tilted, towards him. “Do you accept?”

When he proposed, Will had managed a speech. He had come up with a thousand different things to say to Hannibal, and then narrowed them down into the most important, laid it out into sentences and paragraphs and a desperate need for Hannibal to _ know _ , for him to _ understand _. 

Now, he didn’t have a single word. He didn’t need them. Hannibal had said them all. Hannibal had taken his words, his fears, his _ breath _. 

Will wanted to reach out and touch. He didn’t dare. He kept his hands on his thighs, tilted his head back to bare his throat. “I do,” he said softly. The parallels did not escape him. Nor did they escape Hannibal, whose expression twitched, the emotion overwhelming him for just a moment.

Hannibal’s hands were always so careful with Will, even when hurting him, pushing, pulling, twisting Will up into knots and then undoing him just as easily. They were careful now, fingers tracing over Will’s skin, wrapping leather around him, snug, but not _ tight _, a constant pressure, a caress that would not leave. Will swallowed. This one didn’t lock, but Hannibal had promised him there would be others that did. Will could imagine it, letting Hannibal lock it into place. Being unable to remove it without Hannibal’s hands on him. His mouth was dry. He wanted Hannibal to touch him again.

Will didn’t move. He waited, patient, obedient, for Hannibal to tell him what to do.

Hannibal had noticed that more often, now, Will would get to that quiet place in his mind with mere words, where once he had to be coaxed there through pain and pleasure and exhaustion. He could already see him start to drift, his eyes glazed just a little, wide and focused on Hannibal.

He was beautiful.

Handsome he had always been, in that rugged deliberately argumentative way. Hannibal had always found himself attracted to Will, in one way or another. But right now, here, sat poised and relaxed, a collar around his throat that he had accepted, Will looked _ beautiful _.

Hannibal took half a step back. “Come here,”

Will blinked, kept his hands on his thighs as one foot found the floor and raised him to his full height again. He took the step needed to stand in front of Hannibal, face to face, and couldn’t hold back a smile. He hadn’t been told not to smile, and he couldn’t help it. This felt… right, somehow. Right for _ them _. And no one but them need ever see this.

Hannibal drew a hand up Will’s arm to his shoulder, and gently turned him, leading Will before him until they reached the mirror by the door, full length in an elegant frame. Hannibal stood behind Will, just enough, his hand still on his shoulder, his eyes meeting Will’s in their reflection.

“Look,” he said.

Will had resisted up until now. He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t been ready, or if he simply hadn’t cared. Maybe Hannibal could have wrapped anything at all around Will’s neck and Will would have accepted it with the same peaceful submission he felt now.

It was beautiful. Simple, a wide black band held together by two metal bars over his Adam’s apple. Hannibal had a taste for simple, uncomplicated pleasures, mixed in amongst his more complex designs, complimenting and accompanying. And he knew Will so well, Will, who craved simplicity in most things. Who needed the complex taken from his hands, taken care of. 

“I love it,” Will said, his voice soft. “Hannibal, I-” Submission had overwhelmed him before, but now what overwhelmed him was emotion. He turned, flinging his arms around Hannibal, nearly bowling them both over in his enthusiasm.

Hannibal’s arms came up around him, pulling him close. One hand tangled in his hair, tilting Will’s head back for a breathless kiss, deep, claiming, nearly bringing Will back down to his knees.

“I love you,” Will gasped against his mouth, “I love you, I’m yours.”

Hannibal repeated his words to him, held him near, kissed him. Will trembled in his arms and clung to Hannibal just as tightly. Hannibal knew that he himself would feel this day’s significance. He had hoped Will would have, as well. And this… this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He caught a hand in Will’s hair and tugged, enough to draw his chin up, enough to allow Hannibal to kiss against the collar’s smooth edge, teeth just grazing the skin beneath. The sound Will made was music to his ears.

He wanted to claim him. Roughly, deeply, hard enough to ache for both of them. And all at once he wanted Will to lay pliant, to whimper in pleasure, beg for more as Hannibal took his time. He wanted everything. He wanted it all at once.

“Undress,” he breathed, “get on the bed for me.”

Will shivered, nodded, immediately moved to comply. It wasn’t frantic, not the kind of sex that they’d enjoyed in the forest the day they’d gotten engaged, it wasn’t rushed, like the first time Hannibal had had Will in his bed, stubborn and proud and lovely.

It was patient, precise. Will looked at Hannibal only when he was completely bare, save for the leather slash across his throat, and then he smiled, that pleased and dark thing, before crawling to the center of their bed and waiting for Hannibal there.

Hannibal found that his own patience was limited, when he’d never had such a problem before. He still took the time to set his clothes aside properly, but he was perhaps not as neat as he had been in the past. He was too eager to get to Will, to plant kisses against each of his wrists and bind them to the headboard, black leather around his wrists to match his throat. He clipped a chain to the collar and wrapped it’s length around his fist, tugging until Will hissed and squirmed beneath him, thighs spreading wide to welcome Hannibal in.

Hannibal wanted to have this moment forever. He wanted always to worship at this altar, to leave gentle bites down Will’s chest, to leave Will’s wrists and throat lined from his squirming. Will could be as still as a statue, should Hannibal ask him, but today, Hannibal wanted him vibrant. He wanted Will’s reactions to every touch, his startled gasp when Hannibal pulled the collar tight and then licked a line up his thigh. Hannibal licked Will open in slow, steady passes,, wrung gasps from Will’s throat. Will’s heels dug into his back, begging wordlessly for more.

“I will never tire of this,” Hannibal said when he pulled back, reaching for a proper lubricant. “You whine every time as though you’ve never felt it before, and you cannot believe I would touch you so intimately.”

Will was hazy eyed, lips parted, hands clenched into fists above his head. He sank so easily now, Hannibal’s sweet, eager boy, giving himself up and taking as much of Hannibal in return.

He watched Hannibal through half-closed lids as he fingered him open, just as breathless in his responses then. Will shivered as Hannibal let the cool chain rest coiled over his chest as he stroked himself and watched Will before him; open and willing and needy.

Will grinned at him, lazy, pleased, and arched his back with a groan. He used the cuffs and his bondage to his favor, presenting himself for Hannibal to look his fill; he did not see them as a disadvantage, as an imprisonment.

Submissive, through and through.

“I love when you fuck me,” Will told him, rolling his body in another tempting undulation. “When you put your cock in me, anywhere. You drive me insane.”

Hannibal bent to kiss him, Will grinning through it as he drew his knees up, spread his legs for Hannibal to line up against him.

“I love you,” he murmured, catching Hannibal’s bottom lip between his teeth to tug as he started to push in. it had been months. Months and months of them sharing each other’s bodies, learning them, memorizing them and their responses. And still, still Will shivered in pleasure when Hannibal entered him, every time. They just fit. They made sense. Will bit his lip and groaned as Hannibal took his time, didn’t ease him into it.

He sighed as the chain was gathered from his chest, as Hannibal’s hand turned, over and over, to pull it tight against the collar. Will’s eyes were a challenge, bright and eager, and he lifted his chin as Hannibal tensed his hold, as he pulled out of Will and thrust back in again, taking Will’s breath with him.

Hannibal fucked him like that for what seemed like forever, alternating the tension so that one minute Will saw stars, body pushed to the limit, and the next he was gasping into kisses that sought to claim what little breath he’d been granted. Will moved with him, short, desperate rocks of his hips, losing what little leverage he had in the way Hannibal held him down.

They had passed hours like this, lost in each other. They had forever to touch and kiss and bite. Will didn’t care about the wedding. He didn’t care if Hannibal invited ten people or a thousand, if they ate things he couldn’t pronounce or plates upon plates of junk food.

The wedding was months away, still, but _ this _ was the marriage. 

When he was close, Hannibal wrapped a hand around Will, thumbing at the sensitive head until Will cried out and clenched around him. He pulled Will over in slow, steady strokes, tightening the chain until Will’s eyes fluttered shut and he came in long pulses over his own stomach. Hannibal held out only until Will began to whimper with every thrust, blissful and beautiful in his suffering, tight around Hannibal as Hannibal shook through his own orgasm.

Will had never had an orgasm like that in his life. Never anything so intense. He hadn’t known it could be more than what Hannibal already did to him, what he so often gave him. He wanted to pull Hannibal close, to wrap his limbs around him, but the chain struck against the headboard and Will whined in his displeasure. He wrapped his legs around Hannibal instead, holding him close as Hannibal kissed his way over Will’s stomach, up to his chest and took a nipple between his teeth to bite lazily.

“Never let me go,” Will mumbled against him, when Hannibal finally reached his lips, kissing sloppy and slow. “I’ll never let you fucking go.”

“Good,” Hannibal replied, gently touching over the collar to see the skin reddened beneath. Nothing too brutal, nothing that wouldn’t quickly fade, but enough. Enough for them both to remember, to treasure together.

Will nuzzled him, tilting Hannibal’s chin up with his nose and kissed his throat, sucking a bruise there that made Hannibal moan, arms trembling beneath him as he held himself up over Will. claim staked, Will lay back again, exhausted and fucked out; utterly ravishing.

“You know, I did make dinner,” Hannibal told him, amused, as he moved to straddle Will’s form and worked free the cuffs from around his wrists, kissing the marks they’d left.

“Nope,” Will replied, groaning when he could finally stretch his arms properly again, arching up against Hannibal where he sat. “Not hungry for anything but sex.”

“I would be offended if I didn’t feel so appreciated,” Hannibal remarked blithely, and Will snorted beneath him, bringing a hand to his face to cover the grin before Hannibal gently moved it away.

“Get down here,” Will told him after a moment, reaching blindly up to grasp the back of Hannibal’s neck and bring him down to lay against him. “Stay there. Right there. I want to sleep with you.”

Hannibal complied, how could he not? He kissed Will’s slack lips, down over his jaw, and reached to work the collar free before Will caught his wrist and held him still. 

“Leave it,” he said. “I want to feel it when I wake up in the morning.”

And Hannibal obeyed. How could he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's [home and ceremony collar.](https://www.etsy.com/nz/listing/599644471/bdsm-collar-submissive-collar-leather?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=submissive+collar&ref=sr_gallery-6-35&frs=1&col=1)  
Will's [work and outside collar.](https://www.etsy.com/nz/listing/491195890/green-leather-choker-necklace-teal?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=submissive+collar&ref=sc_gallery-6-1&plkey=82076631eb6194058f9665e0c87a5ca64582c04f%3A491195890)  
Also everyone's collaring ceremonies are different, they are just like weddings honestly, and since neither of us have ever been to one or part of one, we made one up. Hopefully we did it justice for anyone out there collared!
> 
> Want more, or chapters ahead, or just cool things in general? [Check out our Tumblr](https://stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/) for links and kinks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will never suspected that Hannibal was having affairs on the side when he worked late or came home at truly ungodly hours exhausted and wired. He never suspected because he knew Hannibal wasn’t doing that._
> 
> _But shit, he didn’t think Hannibal had been doing _this.
> 
> Will finds the murder basement... we did promise some angst in this, loves, so careful going in. Extra warning tags at the start and a quick Sparknotes in the end tags if you can't stomach the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few partial warnings for this one just in case: major panic attack, hyperventilation, crying, screaming, throwing up (not graphic), betrayal, pain

In retrospect, there had to have been a flaw. Some huge, glaring red flag. Nobody was  _ perfect _ , after all. Alright, so Will had never actually thought Hannibal was  _ perfect _ , but he had come unsettlingly close over the past few months. He knew Will’s body, his mind. He could take Will apart with nothing more than his belt. He could banter with Will for hours about Will’s classes and cases. He never seemed to fear that Will would come home wearing more of one of his killers than his own mind. And on the days Will did, Hannibal would unlock Will’s subtle daytime collar, replacing it with the larger, more blatant collar he wore at home, take Will to the bedroom, and remind Will of who he was, who he belonged to. 

They were both stressed lately, Will with work and Hannibal with the impending wedding. The collars helped. For Will, the thin band of leather hidden under the collar of his shirt was a reminder of Hannibal’s attention and care, when work threatened to overwhelm him. For Hannibal, he need only see the obvious sign of Will’s love, his commitment, and his shoulders would relax, his body unwinding. 

Will had taken to service more than usual, as the wedding grew closer. Hannibal’s orders were usually either directly related to health or sex; he didn’t typically treat Will as a servant. Eager to ease Hannibal’s stress, Will had made the change of his own accord, greeting Hannibal at the door to take his coat if he was home first, offering Hannibal glasses of wine before he could suggest they partake, heating up leftovers ( _ Properly. _ Without a  _ microwave _ ) on the nights Hannibal seemed particularly frustrated. 

The day Will found out was one of his early days. He’d gone through all the wines in the kitchen and found nothing he cared for, given his plans for dinner. He was going to  _ actually cook _ for once. He was capable, but he hadn’t bothered to try since they’d moved in together, and he thought it would be nice to offer Hannibal a night off without leftovers. 

Will hadn’t been in Hannibal’s wine cellar often. They kept out of each other’s spaces, each understanding that sometimes you needed to be alone. It was more cramped than Will had been expecting, as neatly organized as the shelves were. Will had built them for Hannibal, and he’d thought when he did so that there would be more space to breathe. 

As he was wandering through, Will nudged a bit too close to one of the shelves. The frame rattled, the bottles shifting in their racks. Will watched with horror as one of the bottles slid out entirely, smashing to the ground in a splatter of red that covered Will’s slacks and spread across the floor…

...and slid  _ under _ a wall.

Will considered, just for a moment, leaving it alone. He considered cleaning up the wine, taking out the glass to the trash, apologizing to Hannibal for destroying something probably worth as much as half the house, and leaving it well enough alone.

But something snagged him, tugged like a fish hook, and pulled him closer; hands already out to find the hidden catch or panel to push to get to the room behind the “wall”.

To say he had been  _ suspicious _ would be inaccurate, and too accurate. Will was suspicious of everyone. It came with the territory of being a walking Babelfish of human complexity. People projected too much, lied too much, laughed too falsely, pretended to be better than they were. Will had always known there was more to Hannibal than the finely dressed veneer, but he’d never felt the need to probe.

Because his adoration had been genuine, always, and his devotion to Will had been proven time and again, and Will never suspected that Hannibal was having affairs on the side when he worked late or came home at truly ungodly hours exhausted and wired. He never suspected because he knew Hannibal wasn’t doing that.

But shit, he didn’t think Hannibal had been doing  _ this _ .

It was, as the technical FBI term went, a ‘murder basement’. Complete with dissecting table, freezers, hooks that hung thankfully devoid of detritus, a side table with polished tools, laid out ready for  _ whatever _ \- or more accurately  _ whoever _ \- landed in here next.

Will cursed, soft and quiet and pained, and rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. Because of course, of  _ course _ the man that loved Will Graham beyond reason was a goddamn serial killer. Of course he fucking was.

Will wanted to scream. He wanted to scream, and throw things, and then possibly  _ cry _ . He did the first two, at least, since  _ obviously _ their fucking basement was  _ soundproofed _ since neither Will nor the dogs had never noticed any  _ murdering _ going on. 

He stayed away from the freezers. They were pinging alarm bells in his head that he was trying desperately to ignore, and he knew, he  _ knew _ that if he opened them, he would have to deal with the thing he wasn’t ready to think about. The rest, though, the rest was fair game. 

Hannibal was well stocked. He had a CD player set up in the corner, probably listening to his goddamn  _ operas _ while he opened people up. Will threw that first. As the most mundane and out of place thing in the basement, it somehow offended him more than anything else, as if normalcy in a sea of violence was a horrific beast to slay. 

There was a cabinet full of equipment, tape and tarps and rope and what turned out to be a plastic suit that might have been  _ hilarious _ if Will wasn’t so disgusted. And if he hadn’t gone to close the door and caught a glimpse of a length of chain, long and just thick enough to carry weight to it. Will knew that chain, or at least one from the very same spool. He’d had it run between his collar and the banister of the kitchen, while Will stood below in the living room, up on his toes to keep from being choked. Hannibal had kept him there for over an hour, Will’s wrists bound tight behind his back, struggling to keep his balance while Hannibal pinched and teased and  _ beat _ him until Will was gasping and crying. Will had let Hannibal hold him with that chain, and then Hannibal had used it to hold someone else down while he tore life out of them.

Something thick and overwhelming caught in Will’s throat, and if he let it, it would become the sob that started off the wailing, the shaking and crying he wasn’t going to do, he  _ wasn’t _ . Furious, Will went for Hannibal’s neatly laid out tools, set on a rolling cart in preparation for their next victim. His hand hovered over a long, curved knife. 

Hannibal was never going to hurt him. Will believed that even now, surrounded by proof of others Hannibal had hurt. But there was no telling what panic would lead Hannibal to, whether he might try to incapacitate Will or flee altogether. And he could  _ not _ be allowed to flee. Will took the knife and then kicked the cart over hard enough to scatter tools across the concrete floor.

That’s what Hannibal arrived home to; an echoing crash from the basement, and a crew of excited dogs.

Will wasn’t with them.

Meaning, Will was in the basement. And the basement, the part of it Will had seen, had helped furnish with custom shelves, did not have anything that could make that sort of reverberating shudder.

Hannibal was gentle as he greeted the dogs, mind already swirling with horrific imaginings of what had happened to bring Will  _ there _ . Perhaps someone had broken in? Perhaps they had bypassed their battalion of animals and dragged Will down there, were hurting him, tormenting him, maiming him while Hannibal took his time upstairs…

Perhaps.

But not likely.

What was more likely was what clutched at Hannibal’s throat like an insistent hand and didn’t let him breathe properly. What was more likely was that Will had followed his nature, after all, despite himself.

Hannibal made sure to close the door behind himself so the dogs didn’t follow as he descended the familiar steps. He saw the broken bottle, followed the path of its spilled contents and closed his eyes to center himself before stepping further into the basement, into the room Will was never meant to find.

Within, it was a thunderstorm. Broken things and shattered glass, a mess of emotion and anguish smeared across the once-pristine stone floor. Hannibal forced himself to swallow before finding Will in the middle of it, the eye of the storm itself, too still, too quiet, too lovely to be here.

“Will,” he said softly.

There was no shock or horror in Hannibal’s eyes. Only resignation. Will wanted him to say something more than just his name, in that quiet little voice, like he felt  _ bad _ . Will was twisting between two conflicting ideas, the knowledge that psychopaths didn’t feel typical connections warring with the undeniable truth that Hannibal loved him, truly, genuinely, unselfishly. 

They stared at each other. Will clutched the knife tight in his hand, and for a moment thought he might attack Hannibal with it, might rip him open the way Will felt ripped open. He wouldn’t, of course, but he squeezed his hand around it hard enough to ache. “Say something!” he yelled. Hannibal didn’t flinch. He just continued to look sad, like he had any right. 

“What would you like me to say, Will?”

“Anything!” Will wanted him to defend himself. To say this wasn’t his hideaway, that Will had somehow misunderstood his purpose. Maybe even say that the crimes he had committed were somehow justified, give Will a reasoning that he might be able to believe, as if such a thing existed. “Tell me why-” Will’s voice cut off, the choking grip of hysteria tightening in his chest. No, he couldn’t handle that, not right now. “Tell me you didn’t,” he said instead, and the horrified sob broke free, cracked his words right in half. “Tell me I’m wrong, tell me you’re sorry.  _ Lie to me _ , Hannibal, you’ve been lying to me for months, so lie to me now because I can’t-”

Will stumbled back, tripping over the remnants of the CD player he’d smashed. He righted himself, and then gave up, sinking to the floor and shaking with the tears that were overwhelming him. “Tell me you love me,” He gasped, “tell me this all wasn’t some awful fucking game. Tell me the goddamn  _ weather report _ , Hannibal, just  _ say something!” _

Hannibal went to him, he couldn’t see Will in pain this way, not in this kind of pain. Pain between them was chosen, was special, was a type of pleasure few people could ever know together. But not this. 

Not this.

“I did,” he breathed, voice quiet, raw, sincere. “You’re not wrong, Will, I did. I did and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” And he was. In that moment, for the first time in his life since he’d given himself entirely to this obsession, he was sorry. Because he had hurt Will in a way he had never wanted to, not even at the beginning, not even in his darkest, cruelest thoughts.

He set his hands to Will’s face, uncaring for how close the knife was, how tightly Will held it. “I love you.” he told him, holding Will still until he met his eyes, angry and hurt and that broke Hannibal’s voice too. “I  _ love _ you, Will, there was never a doubt, never a lie. Not with you. Never with you.”

“But with this?” Will asked, he sniffed, unable to keep the tears from seeping from his eyes even as he tried to be angry again,  _ wrathful _ . “You didn’t tell me about  _ this _ ?”

“You see enough at your work,” Hannibal tried, immediately regretting his answer when rage did hit Will then, blatant and burning.

“My  _ work _ , Hannibal? My fucking  _ work _ ? Is this - are you -” he gripped his hair hard enough to feel some follicles detach from his scalp. “Hannibal have I  _ studied _ you? Lectured you to my students? Did you sit in when I -” Will brought a hand to his mouth, for a moment feeling sick, so, so sick. “What are you. Tell me.”

“Will -”

“ _ Tell me. _ ”

“You know, already,” Hannibal whispered. 

And he did. He knew, with perfect clarity, the sort of people Hannibal would target. Seemingly no connection, different ages, different races, different parts of Baltimore. And then he’d bring them home and cut out the trophies and… and…

There, the thought that Will had been struggling to avoid, the thing he couldn’t think about. The question that stirred up bile in his stomach.  _ Why did Hannibal have so many freezers? _

_ How long have you been feeding them to me _ .

“You’re the Ripper,” Will said numbly, and then his stomach twisted upside down and he was heaving, body shaking with the force of it as he dropped the knife to roll to his side and vomit onto the concrete floor. 

He’d had leftovers for lunch. Pork roast.  _ Long pig _ . Will heaved again, and lost everything that had been left in his stomach, until he was spitting up acid. Hannibal brushed Will’s damp curls away from his sweaty face, rubbing over his back in soothing circles until Will reached out and swatted roughly at him. 

“Don’t,” Will rasped, “Don’t touch me, you’re the  _ Chesapeake Ripper _ . You sat in on  _ lessons about yourself _ , you proofread my  _ powerpoints _ you arrogant fucking  _ liar _ , you absolute  _ asshole _ -”

Will scooted back, away from the mess and from Hannibal’s comforting hands, still so soothing even knowing what Will knew. The sobs were coming back, the misery and betrayal outweighing the anger. Just a few hours ago he’d been curled up in bed with Hannibal’s comforting weight holding him down, and now he couldn’t breathe, he was choking on his own breath. Will brought his hand up to his throat and his fingers found the thin leather of the loose, easily hidden collar he wore to work, locked in place and suddenly unbearably tight. Will yanked at it, frantic, tugging until the leather dug lines into his skin, until Hannibal gently took hold of his wrists and pried them away.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, Will.”

“Take it off,” Will hissed, “Take it off and fucking  _ burn it,  _ I can’t believe everything you’ve been saying about  _ trust _ and here you are in your fucking  _ murder dungeon _ \- take it off!” Will’s voice pitched upward, high and frantic. He tugged at Hannibal’s firm grip, enraged by the misery he dared to wear across his face. 

“I don’t have the key, darling,” Hannibal told him gently, “If you want it off, you have to settle down enough for me to take you upstairs.”

“You’re holding me h- _ hostage _ now?”

“No,” Hannibal said firmly, dragging Will’s trembling, flailing body across the floor and into his lap, “But you need to breathe. You need to take some deep breathes with me. You’re having a panic attack.”

“Of course I’m having a fucking-” Will cut himself off, chest heaving. “Hannibal, I’m going to- again-”

Hannibal tilted Will in his lap, and the world tilted with him, as he gave Will just enough room to spit up stomach acid onto the floor again. 

Hannibal stroked his back through this, too. He held Will’s hair in a gentle grasp as he sobbed and shuddered against him, the fight gone for the moment, enough that he didn’t struggle from Hannibal’s hold. When his breathing evened out, Will didn’t stop crying. He couldn’t. It hurt, everything  _ hurt _ and he wanted this to stop. To be over. To never have happened at all. He would take ignorance, he realized, frantic in his thoughts, over the truth.

Because he loved him, goddammit, he  _ loved _ Hannibal. Despite this. Despite all of it. And he hated himself for it.

Hannibal tightened his embrace, for no other reason than to give Will the safety of being held, the weight of someone holding him, who wanted to. He turned his head against Will’s hair, eyes closed and chest aching. He had done this. Hannibal. No one else. He had brought Will to this pain with his omissions, with his naive assumptions that Will never had to know.

He didn’t realize he was rocking them until Will grasped against his arm and clung to him, words spent and spilled now, just harsh breaths left.

“Please, Will,” he whispered. “Please, let me make amends.”

Will make a helpless sound, tried to pass it off as a laugh. Hannibal held him closer. 

“There is nothing in this world,  _ nothing _ , Will, that I would not give for you. Nothing I wouldn’t give up. You are my life, you are my everything, Will, please.” he swallowed, unable to keep his own voice steady anymore. “Please tell me I can still make amends.”

There were no amends for this. There was no way to undo the deaths Hannibal had caused, the lies he had told, the things he had  _ fed _ to Will. 

But nor was there a way for Will to go back. He could move himself and the dogs back to Wolf Trap, live alone and unmonitored, slowly lose his eating and sleeping patterns until he was once again the grumpy mess he’d been before. But he didn’t want to do that. Nor was he entirely sure Hannibal could find it in himself to  _ let  _ him. 

He loved Hannibal. Will loved him, and he wanted to marry him, and wear his collar, and fuck him in the dirt and trees until they were both filthy and bleeding. Maybe that made him worse than the Ripper, because he was turning his back on all the bodies for his own happiness. Will didn’t care. He was just so very, very tired of caring, of living other people’s stories instead of his own. 

“It can’t happen again,” Will whispered. His throat ached, burning from how many times he’d been sick. “It can’t  _ ever _ happen again, Hannibal. I want you to take this place apart, I don’t ever want another body in this basement. I want-”

Tears were brimming again. Will shoved his face against Hannibal’s shoulder and forced them back down. “I want you to be mine,” he said, muffled into the fabric of Hannibal’s suit jacket, “And I want to be yours. And I can’t be yours if you’re in a cell somewhere on death row. God, Hannibal, what was your plan if you got caught? If someone other than me figured it out? How the hell am I supposed to smuggle seven dogs out of the country?”

Hannibal just held him, unable to speak at all for the relief that washed through him at Will’s words. He had hurt him. He had hurt Will beyond endurance and reason and he was being allowed to do something to make even a little of that right. It was a mercy he was unworthy of, but he would cling to it with everything he had.

“I’ll destroy it,” he promised, “every brick and tile, Will, everything. They will not find me, there will be nothing to find. Nothing left. Nothing ever again.”

He sighed into Will’s hair, breathed in the smell of him, the smell of home and everything that meant. “I’m yours,” he added quietly. “I’m yours, Will, I’m not going anywhere without you, or the dogs.” he laughed then, a pitched and nervous thing. “Seven dogs have no business going through customs.”

Will clung to him, his nails digging hard into the fabric of Hannibal’s suit. “I won’t eat it,” He whispered. “Whatever you have left, whatever you’ve kept, don’t you dare put it on my plate. Maybe you thought it was  _ funny-” _

“Never, Will,” Hannibal promised, “I ate it too. It… My feelings about it are complex. It’s a very long story, and I’ll share it if you’d like, but I’m not sure tonight is the best time.”

“It’s not,” Will said firmly. He felt nauseous again at the thought of it. “But you’ll tell me all of it, eventually.  _ All of it _ , Hannibal. Every body.”

Hannibal’s hands stilled in their gentle soothing. “Will, I don’t think-”

“Every. Body.” Will repeated firmly. “We’re equals, Hannibal. In this, as in everything else. Just… Not tonight I can’t do it tonight.” 

“Not tonight,” Hannibal agreed, “Perhaps tonight, you’ll allow me to draw you a bath?”

Will sighed. He felt sweaty, and sour, his mouth cottony. “Yeah. Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will finds Hannibal's murder basement and doesn't know how to deal with it. He has a panic attack, Hannibal tries to comfort him.
> 
> Check out [Tumblr](www.stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/) for chapters ahead, kinks, and links!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I don’t know how to be around you right now, Hannibal. I don’t know how to be me. I had a routine. I had things I could expect. Everything is twisted.”_
> 
> _“I’m sorry,”_
> 
> Our boys find a way to reconcile.

They ordered dinner in. Cheap, greasy, unpalatable pizza that Will ate sullenly bent over the kitchen sink. Hannibal didn’t eat anything. He fed the dogs and let them loose for their evening run, sitting on the porch and watching nothing at all. He would clean the basement when Will was asleep, he would find a way to sell the equipment that wouldn’t draw suspicion, or he would destroy it.

There was no question, no hesitation. It would go, all of it, or else Will would. Hannibal would not survive that, he was certain.

He didn’t join Will in bed that evening, instead taking the spare room and sighing when Buster made it clear he would be sharing it. He cleaned the basement. He went to bed late. He woke with Buster on the pillow next to him, stubborn as his owner.

Before Will woke, Hannibal cleared their kitchen of any meat. Some he fed to the dogs, the rest he disposed of, ignoring his personal rule of never wasting good product. He made Will eggs, and strong coffee, and didn’t wake him, instead waiting for Will to come down on his own, rubbing sleep from his eyes as though he’d actually slept.

Will didn’t know why’d he’d even tried, honestly. He hadn’t slept without Hannibal’s comforting weight in months, with the exception of occasional overnight trips, during which neither of them ever got much sleep. He could have been awake, getting some work done. Instead he had stared at the ceiling, let the dogs crawl over him, lost himself in his own thoughts and the Ripper’s head and missed Hannibal until he couldn’t breathe.

He hadn’t taken the collar off. Hannibal had not offered him his home collar, perhaps thinking Will would bite his fingers off if he tried. Will knew where the spare key was. He’d taken it out, stared at it. Considered.

There was only one thing worse than going through this, and that was going through it alone. Unmoored. Will wasn’t sure he could accept guidance or commands from Hannibal right now, but he thought he might fall apart if he took the option away from himself. 

He kept finding his fingers drawn to the padlock as he sat down at the table, tugging at the only source of security within reach. He accepted coffee with a quiet nod of thanks, staring down at the eggs. “No meat,” he noted.

“I’m afraid our supplies had spoiled.” Hannibal told him. Well, that answered the unspoken question of how much of their meals Hannibal had provided. Hannibal looked as exhausted as Will felt. Will had never imagined he could look anything else but perfect. Will looked up at him, feeling helpless, lost. He didn’t know if he could handle anything more than this quiet, but he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t need Hannibal.

“I can’t do this,” Will said quietly. “Can’t we just… God, Hannibal, do you have to stand so far away from me?”

Hannibal moved closer without a word, taking the seat nearest Will rather than standing over him, as he normally would, as he desperately wanted to. To give Will the option to -

To what? Run?

He leaned in, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps aching for Will as desperately as Will ached for him and just unsure how to reconnect that damaged chain link.

“What can’t you do?” He asked softly, his own coffee in his hands as he looked at Will.

Will stabbed half-heartedly at his eggs. Nothing Hannibal had made him, even the weird things, had ever been less than delicious. Still, Will had an overwhelming feeling that if he ate them, they would immediately rot in his empty stomach. 

“This,” He told Hannibal, “This quiet. This distance. Pretending I don’t love you. But I don’t know how to be around you right now, Hannibal. I don’t know how to be  _ me. _ I had a routine. I had things I could expect. Everything is twisted.”

“I’m sorry,”

Hannibal watched Will pick at his food and not eat it, felt that hollowness in his gut that came with understanding the enormity of his failure. To protect, to guide, to love… the things he’d promised, that Will wore around his throat, he’d broken.

He reached out without thinking when a stray curl slipped over Will’s face and tucked it behind his ear, his entire body shivering when Will immediately leaned into his hand, eyes closing and breath easing from his lungs. They stayed like that for a while. Neither certain how to  _ be _ , now, with this revelation between them.

Hannibal swallowed, forced himself to stand, to come around and frame Will where he sat over his breakfast, cheek against his hair - as he did every morning, as he would do, every morning.

“You said parts came in for the car during the week,” he reminded him. Routines. Expectations. Normalcy. “I will busy myself with cleaning, I think. We can have the doors open for the dogs to come and go, unless you’re worried they’ll get into your boxes again.”

It was the return to routine Will had craved, yet he couldn’t help but feel like he was being rejected, sent out and away from where he felt safety. He leaned back into Hannibal, taking up as much contact as he could before it ended again. 

“No,” he forced himself to say, “I think they learned the last time. There’s nothing tasty in there, and you’re more likely to spoil them with treats than I am. 

“I had to earn their affection somehow.” There was humor in Hannibal’s tone, just a fragile thing, but enough that if Will closed his eyes, it could be the morning before, a chat before work. He wanted that. Maybe he could pretend, once the basement had been cleared up. Once there was nothing left to remind him. 

“I want my collar,” Will said, forcing the words out before his courage vanished. “The right one.” The one he’d been collared with the very first night, the one that covered half his neck in a constant caress. The one that didn’t lock, didn’t need to, because at home with Hannibal, Will would never have a reason to take it off. Will reached up again to his throat, tugging at the lock in a sudden need to remember it was there. 

Hannibal made a sound, a gentle thing, and pressed his lips dry to Will’s temple before stepping away, a hand to Will’s shoulder in a squeeze as he went. He returned with the collar and the key, moving to crouch in front of Will to unlock the one he wore. He let Will take it off, working the supple leather between his fingers before setting it to the table next to his mug. He hesitated before reaching for his home collar.

“May I put it on you?” Hannibal asked him, watching the way Will immediately met his eyes, immediately nodded.

Perhaps there was something salvageable for them. Perhaps there was something stronger in their foundation than the fundamental rot in Hannibal’s nature.

He could hope.

Hannibal took his time working the collar open, drawing his palms over the inside of it before draping it over Will’s head and leaning closer to fasten it snug for him. He sighed, hands on either side of Will’s neck when he was finished, and smiled.

“Beautiful.” he told him. Earnest. Familiar. True. “You are welcome to join me in the house, if the car doesn’t call you today.”

Will wanted. He ached so badly he was certain it must be visible on his face. But what was he going to do in the house with Hannibal? Not what they might normally do on a Saturday, curled up to talk or fuck. Making love on a quiet morning. Will on his knees beside the sofa begging for a taste of Hannibal, for the entirety of his attention. Sneaking up behind Hannibal just before dinner to swipe raw vegetables from the cutting board.

“I should work on the car,” Will said. He meant it to sound apologetic, but it came out robotic, stiff. 

Hannibal’s hands slid away from his throat. Will’s own hands twitched in his lap, overwhelmed with the urge to yank them back. 

Will hid in the workshop for the entire day. Hannibal went out sometime in the early afternoon, and Will took the opportunity to sneak a lunch, something quick and not at all what Hannibal would have prepared for him, were they still doing this properly. He was gone again until dinner, tense and quiet as it was. Hannibal switched his collar back to the soft, thin one, and Will disappeared into their bedroom. 

Hannibal didn’t come to bed, again. Will heard him disappear into the spare bedroom, accompanied by at least two of the dogs.

It would be another long, aching night. Will wouldn’t sleep. Hannibal would likely not sleep. They would lay, staring at the ceiling, hurting and alone, and Will couldn’t  _ take it _ anymore.

Hannibal had brushed his teeth. Had undressed. Had fought Buster for the superior pillow, and lost. It was shaping up to be another long night. When the door creaked open, he thought for a moment it was just hopeful imagination. 

“Come on, buddy, move,” Will murmured, coaxing the little dog from the bed and taking his place with a deep sigh, turning under the sheets until he was tucked against Hannibal, his head beneath his chin.

“Six dogs are too many for one bed,” Will mumbled. An unnecessary explanation that both accepted readily. Hannibal hummed, slipping one arm beneath Will’s head and wrapping the other snug around him and closed his eyes.

He felt the relief immediately, like taking a clean breath after trying to survive on smoke. Will’s heart beat against him and Hannibal’s moved to match. His breathing evened and Will’s followed in kind. Pieces of each other falling into place again, fitting into a familiar, welcome whole. Hannibal ducked his head to nuzzle Will’s hair, drew a finger gently beneath the line of his collar.

“I love you,” he told him. No need for more. For anything else. A fact repeated, re-established. Cemented.

Will whispered it back, mouthed it into Hannibal’s collarbone, barely a breath. Hannibal seemed to hear it anyway, pressing a kiss to the top of Will’s head. 

They slept like the dead, long past the time they would normally have risen. Sometime in the night, Will had squirmed onto his stomach, Hannibal’s warmth draping fully over his back to weigh him down. He could feel Hannibal hot and hard against his ass, and he whimpered, grinding his own erection into the bed.

Will forgot, for a moment, that he was angry. Hannibal had done something horrible, and unforgivable, and  _ fuck it _ . Fuck it all, because Will was in this until the end. Will was going to marry Hannibal, belong to him, claim him for his own. And if Hannibal didn’t wake up  _ right now _ and bury himself inside Will, Will was going to start kicking him. 

Hannibal had been half awake by the time Will began to shift, but he was enjoying the way they were pressed together far too much to get up. There was a possibility that Will’s patience would end when he woke, and they would go back to the distance of the day before.

Then, Will huffed into the pillow, and moved in a way that Hannibal found  _ very  _ familiar. He hid a smile in Will’s curls, shifting to wrap his arm around Will and cup a hand between his thighs. “Good morning, Will.”

Will’s moan shuddered from him, teeth gritted around it as he attempted to keep even a semblance of displeasure. He couldn’t give in so easily, a day - a fucking  _ day _ \- into this. Surely he wasn’t so weak as that.

But he was. He really fucking was.

He arched his back and reached up behind himself to grasp Hannibal’s hair, spreading his legs wider for Hannibal to stroke between them. Both were dressed, which was a hindrance but not much of one. They could shed clothes like snakes shed skin but Will needed more than that. He needed more than a morning fuck. He needed for Hannibal to be  _ his _ again.

As Hannibal continued to palm him, deliberately teasing, Will closed his eyes and eased his breathing. Felt himself settle, already, on the edge of that familiar and welcome place Hannibal so often took him to, with hands and words and toys.

“Fuck me,” he murmured, trying to roll more onto his back to allow Hannibal to touch him better. He felt the purr of his laugh, the warmth of it against his skin but it wasn’t the timbre he needed, it wasn’t  _ there _ yet.

Will squirmed, shivered when Hannibal pinned him, even in the awkward position they held. The response instinctual, immediate, and so welcome that WIll nearly whined for it.

“ _ Fuck me _ ,” he urged again, twisting just enough to have Hannibal release his cock to slide his body over Will’s instead, holding him still. He kissed beneath Will’s chin, just above the collar with a familiar reverence but this wasn’t what Will needed  _ either _ . He needed more, harder, deeper, just -

“Fuck me, Sir,  _ please _ -” his voice cracked on the word, so often pushed from him in his most desperate breathless moments. Now voiced by choice, on his own, because he needed this, he needed it.

He felt Hannibal tense over him, felt him pull away and regard Will on the bed, smiled when Hannibal caught his chin, and opened his eyes to look at him.  _ I need you, I need this, I need us again, please… _

This time when Hannibal lowered his mouth to Will’s throat it was to bite, harsher than he might have otherwise, enough to leave a mark that would last the day but not through to class the next morning. A hand moved to Will’s hair to grasp it, twisting quick and sharp enough to pull a sound from him as Hannibal held him bent and prone and considered him through narrowed eyes.

“Language,” Hannibal murmured, and that,  _ that _ , the deep rumble of a beast within that made Will weak at the knees. His dominant, his lover, his Hannibal. “You know better than that.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” He wasn’t sorry at all, and he knew Hannibal could tell. Hannibal’s smile was all teeth, the threat of bruises down his skin, love bites and suck marks, imprints of Hannibal’s mouth left to fade from red to blue. Will ached for it. 

“Naughty, terrible thing,” Hannibal called him, and Will whined, gleeful in his debasement. He loved to hear the words almost as much as Hannibal loved to say them, loved more the sting when Hannibal gripped his hair tighter and smacked him full across the face.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Will said again, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. Hannibal followed the motion with sharp, intent eyes.

“You will be,” Hannibal promised. He shoved instead of releasing, throwing Will’s upper body back against the bed as he climbed off of him. “I won’t fuck you here. I’ll have you in our bed, where you belong.”

_ Where we  _ ** _both_ ** _ belong _ , Will thought but did not say. His gait was stiff as he walked down the hall, awkward from how hard he was, how eager to be touched. He had barely stepped into the room when a hand caught his throat, cutting his air off immediately while another arm wrapped his waist. 

“Lovely, disobedient little creature,” Hannibal murmured against the shell of his ear, “Whatever am I to do with you?”

Will made a sound as close to a growl as he could manage and tried to shake his head free, gasping as Hannibal held righter. “I’ve told you,” he reminded him. “Thrice.”

“And still you do not ask me nicely,” Hannibal chastened him, a soft kiss to Will’s temple before he bodily moved Will deeper into the bedroom, manhandling him even as Will started to struggle, started to wriggle and twist in earnest as Hannibal threw them both on the bed, winding Will as he pinned him.

It wasn’t hard to reach the first cuff, hidden just behind the pillows when it wasn’t needed. Hannibal made quick work of the lock, shifting his weight to pull Will up by the arm still free as he tried to kick and thrash himself free. Hannibal let him turn to his back, caught his hair before Will could get even near the edge of the bed and slapped him again, hard enough that his own palm vibrated with the sting. And again. Until Will moaned, deep and low and aching, and Hannibal pressed their foreheads together.

“Be still,” he breathed, seeking blind for the second cuff, trapping Will while his ears were still ringing from the blows. He looked debauched already, flushed and alive and wonderful. With a grin, Hannibal sat back, allowed Will to use his entire body to try and fight the bonds he knew would not give. He moved from the mattress to the chest at the foot of their bed and opened it almost lazily, as Will tried to sit up high enough to see.

Hannibal took his time, letting the tension build. He knew Will liked to struggle, sinking deeper any time he felt thoroughly trapped. Hannibal had been trying to give Will his space, but he had clearly let Will go too long without reassurance. A failing on his part, not taking the time to see what Will needed from him. Assuming he understood what Will would want without stopping to really look at him. 

Hannibal selected a variety of items. Some he would use. Some were only chosen to camouflage the others. One toy was chosen simply because its size made Will go flush any time he saw it. He laid his selection out on the end table, watching Will’s wide eyes, pupils blown.

Hannibal placed a single knee on the bed, and Will remembered the game. He lashed out as Hannibal crawled over him, squirming and twisting away, though there was very little space for him to flee to. Hannibal let him trap himself, waiting until Will’s motion took him to his side to fully flip him, resting his weight fully onto Will’s back.

Will growled beneath him, but there was little he could do with Hannibal astride him. Hannibal took both wrists and dragged them to the headboard, shortening Will’s range of motion by forgoing the chain and securing them directly to the headboard itself. He could feel Will’s gasp of relief more than hear it, a shudder down his spine as he tugged fruitlessly. 

“There we go,” Hannibal whispered, easing back towards Will’s flailing legs. “It’s easy to be a good boy when I don’t give you a choice, isn’t it? You should be bound more often. I’d like to see you spend the day without the use of your hands, no other option but to turn to me to have your needs sated.”

Will made a sound so close to a whimper that Hannibal had to bite his tongue not to make one just like it. He instead caught Will’s ankle, wrapping a cuff securely around it. He worked the chain through the endboard, tight enough that Will would be able to lift his hips just off the bed, but go no further. 

Will put up a fight with his last free limb, and Hannibal relished the struggle. He allowed Will his apparent victory for the moment it took him to get off the bed and bring his hand down hard against Will’s ass.

Pleasure shuddered through Will’s body and he moaned again, ducking his head into the sheets. He tried to buck up again and was beaten down once more with a sharp and powerful hand. Over and over, hard enough to start to redden skin, hard enough that Will tried to squirm away only to have his leg caught and knee bent, the new position stretching the muscle taut as Hannibal spanked hard where his thigh curved to his bottom.

“No -”

“Oh yes,” Hannibal replied, guiding Will’s - now unresisting - limb into the final cuff and securing it. Will was held prone in bed, legs spread wide, hands bound tight together just above his head. Hannibal allowed him a moment to shift and test his bonds, to figure out his limitations. He could see how hard Will was already, just from this. How he was leaving a damp mark on their bedspread every time he moved.

“Perhaps a day like this,” Hannibal mused after a while. “Tied just so for me, ready and eager to be mounted when I feel the need to use you. I could cage you,” Hannibal smiled at the helpless noise Will made. “I should cage you. Spend the day filling you up so you’re dripping for me, a filthy mess begging me to fuck you, tearful by the nighttime.”

Hannibal drew his hand soft over the skin he’d so recently struck, relishing the shiver, the way Will tensed in preparation for a blow that didn’t come.

“No time like the present,” Hannibal said finally. He climbed back into the bed beside Will, working one of their pillows under his hips, folded up to lift his ass as high as it would go.. It took away what little leverage Will had to move, stretching his limbs to their fullest extent. Will could just barely rut against the pillow, and he did so with a gasp, unable to manage any more than that.

Will was beginning to reach that hazy space where the world vanished, where nothing remained but the chains that bound him in place, and Hannibal, whatever piece of him he deigned to give Will. “No,” he moaned again, just to hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice as he ran a hand down Will’s spine, teasing the dry tip of a finger into Will’s entrance.

“Yes, darling. As much as I like. You’re hardly in a position to fight me off.” He slid the finger a little deeper, pulling a sharp gasp from Will. “If you’re good, I might make you feel good as well. Or, you may cry and fight me with whatever strength you have, and I’ll punish you when you no longer entertain me. I’ll be satisfied, regardless.”

His finger slid out, a long, slow drag, and when it returned it was two, coated in lube and pushing steadily, without waiting for Will to adjust and welcome Hannibal inside. Will jerked as if to get away, when he could not even lift his foot high enough to kick at the bedsheets. Hannibal’s fingers fucked him in slow, deep thrusts, grazing over his prostate as if by accident rather than design, as if Will’s pleasure was incidental when Will knew Hannibal lived for it. 

The fingers slid out, wiping excess slick against Will’s thigh, and Hannibal slid between Will’s spread legs, his chest to Will’s back and his mouth against Will’s throat.

“It’s not enough!” Will protested as Hannibal’s cock rubbed against his hole, “It won’t fit!” He’d taken it before, of course, sometimes on as little as lubrication and hope, but the more he shook his head, the deeper Hannibal’s chuckle got, the sound of it settling low in Will’s belly, hot and tight as Hannibal began to carve out a space for himself in Will’s body. 

“No,” Will said, hiding a smile against the bedsheets, too flooded with relief to give Hannibal any better acting than his voice alone, “No, stop! It’s too much, I can’t take it.” His thighs tensed, and stayed where they were, no slack in the chain to bring them together. 

“You’ll take it,” Hannibal told him calmly, biting down on the bunched muscles in Will’s shoulders as he pushed further, deeper, all the way in until Will was biting the sheets to stifle his sounds of pleasure. Hannibal grabbed his hair and pulled him up. “Let me hear you,” he whispered, before pulling out and thrusting back in hard.

This was nothing about Will’s pleasure. He was in a position to take it and stay still. He was bent how Hannibal wanted him, spread as Hannibal needed him, open because Hannibal opened him. He was a thing. He was of use, and then nothing more.

Will moaned. Deep and aching and low, and twisted his wrists futilely in his cuffs.

Hannibal continued to fuck him, slow enough to feel good, deep enough to have Will’s breath catch in pleasure, but deliberately avoiding his prostate, deliberately avoiding giving Will what he needed to come.

So he couldn’t.

He tried, tried to arch up into Hannibal’s thrusts, tried to push down against the pillow, to rub his cock into it and bring himself to orgasm that way but as soon as he would get close, Hannibal would change the angle, would fuck him shallowly, quick thrusts of just the head past the rim of Will’s ass until he was near-crying with need.

And then Hannibal came, hard and hot and deep within Will, and kissed his cheek almost chastely.

“A good start to the morning, I think.” he said, grinning when Will turned to him, eyes wide and  _ begging _ . “Thank you, Will.”

“Hannibal,” Will pleaded, “Sir, please, you  _ can’t-“  _ His voice trailed out into a moan as Hannibal slid out of him, swiping up a leaking trail of semen and pushing it back into Will’s twitching entrance with two thick fingers. Will sobbed as those fingers fluttered over his prostate only once, clenching hard to try and keep them inside as Hannibal pulled away and left him empty. 

“I can,” Hannibal said cheerfully, “I have. And I will again, another day. But perhaps today I can be convinced.” He reached for the large dildo he’d set out, enjoying Will’s shuddery, nervous gasp. This was  _ his _ Will, his beautiful submissive lover, eager to be touched, trained, taught. Eager and scared in equal measures, and still following Hannibal’s guidance. 

“I’m not stretched enough,” Will whispered as the toy disappeared from his line of sight. It was less of a tease now, genuine trepidation even though he would willingly take whatever Hannibal gave him, “Sir, please, I  _ can’t!” _

“You can,” Hannibal assured him, laying the dildo on its side over the small of Will’s back, “but if you beg as prettily as I’ve taught you to, I may be willing to try something else. Or you can stay hard and aching. The choice is yours.” 

Will whimpered, body trembling with too much and not enough, all at once. He would hurt, it would hurt so much to take that toy into him. He couldn’t, not like this, not the way he was now. He needed time, he needed to adjust he -

“Sir,” Will tried, voice weak, needy. His eyes were bright, now, with his pleasure. Words would soon be slurred, he’d be able to offer Hannibal little more than whimpers and sobs of need. He knew, they both knew, that he could drop from pain. He had, multiple times, as deeply and as thoroughly.

“Hannibal, please - please punish me for my behaviour,” Will bit his lip, back tense as he felt the toy there, heavy, thick, against him, as he waited for Hannibal to make his decision. “Please, Sir, I’ll be so good taking it for you.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” Will sighed, turned his face into the sheets in a rough needy nuzzle.

“As many licks of the belt as I deem necessary?” Hannibal asked, watching the way Will’s body shivered, the way his muscles immediately fell to laxity. There was something, he had found, with this sort of punishment, that brought Will over very, very quickly.

“Yes,”

“And you will thank me for them,” Hannibal added, biting the inside of his lip to keep his smile at bay as Will cursed, squeezed the cuffs that bound his hands before relaxing his fingers. “And any pleasure you take from it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Will’s voice hitched, broke on the word.

Hannibal leaned forward and placed a kiss against the slightly reddened skin of Will’s backside, enjoying the small shudder that rippled through him. “Then I suppose we’ve found our compromise.”

Hannibal didn’t remove the toy from Will’s back. He left it there even as something much smaller prodded at Will’s sore entrance, easing in and curving to press firmly against his prostate. Will moaned, well aware of what it was even before Hannibal clicked the vibrations on, higher and higher until Will was cursing, toes curling as he wriggled in his bindings. 

It wouldn’t be long, like this. The toy could not tease and shift the way Hannibal had. It could only press incessantly against Will’s prostate, ramping up his need second by second. Will barely noticed when Hannibal rose from the bed.

The first strike of the belt was a blessing, a spark of pain through a hazy need, the control and power Will had been craving in his loneliness. “Thank you, Sir,” he hissed, eyes fluttering closed. 

The second lick jarred the toy on Will’s back, sending it tumbling to the floor. The third struck across the backs of Will’s thighs and made him moan.

The fourth brought Will to orgasm, pain and pleasure entwined as he came, thanking Hannibal in shuddery breaths through out right up until the waves ebbed and the vibrations continued. “-Thank you, thank- No no no,” a whine, breathless and shuddering. Will jerked and tugged, unable to escape the powerful vibrations or the next strike of the belt. “Please, Sir, turn it off, no more, no more-” Hannibal struck him again, forcing Will’s words to break on a sharp, pleasured sob, and then yanked Will’s head back by the hair.

“As many as I deem necessary,” he reminded Will, “That was the deal.”

Will made a sound, a mangling of words that all tried to rush forward at once;  _ no _ and  _ please _ and  _ yes _ and  _ Hannibal _ … He didn't count the stripes after, he couldn't. He felt them with every nerve in his body, responded with breathless cries and sobs, tears soaking the sheets beneath his head in a way Will found far too much comfort in.

Hannibal paced himself, watched Will's body respond in shudders and trembling, attuned to every single involuntary motion. He interspersed the belt with soft presses of his lips, whispering praise that was lost in sound but not meaning to the man beneath him.

Will needed this, sometimes. To not exist for a while. To be Hannibal's to use and enjoy.

He needed this just as much as Hannibal did.

He stopped, drawing the belt in a tickling tease up and down Will's spine when again he convulsed in excruciating pleasure. He allowed the toy a moment more to torment before turning it off, pulling it free.

Will didn't even notice his legs had been released until Hannibal kissed his way from his calf to the back of his knee, easing his legs into a gentle bend. He groaned when the pillow was removed from beneath him and tossed aside. He let his arms fall heavy, immobile, when his wrists were freed next.

But when Hannibal climbed into bed with him, hushing Will's tearful whines, he pressed himself against him and let himself cry, held secure immediately by familiar heavy arms, strong and safe.

"Remarkable boy," Hannibal whispered into his sweaty curls. "You did so, so well."

Will sobbed, wordless and breathy, for long, aching moments. Catharsis was painful as much as it was relaxing. Hannibal kept him close, whispered praise and compliments into Will’s ear in turns. He never seemed to grow tired of this part, no matter how exhausting it seemed to Will. 

“No more,” Will whispered, when the trembling finally ceased. “No more separate bedrooms. No more anger, or guilt. It’s done. It’s over.”

“It is.” Hannibal whispered the promise into Will’s curls, tucking his face amongst the scent of shampoo and sweat. “It’s done, Will. I will take care of the remnants, and it need never be brought up again.”

“No,” Will said sharply. “No more secrets. Whatever your life has been, whatever mine has been, from this point, we are conjoined. And I want to know  _ everything _ .”

“It will be quite a long story,” Hannibal warned.

“Marriage is a long institution.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I want you,” Hannibal told him lowly._
> 
> _“I’m here.”_
> 
> _Permission, submission._
> 
> _Hannibal loved him beyond words in that moment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the kink that Strats and I got talking about in the first places, all those months ago. The fic we were going to do a one-shot of and leave it at that.
> 
> Here we are almost 200,000 words later and we couldn't be happier that this ficlet wasn't a one-shot XD

Hannibal did a lot for Will.

This was not a complaint. He enjoyed doing things for Will. He was entirely content to have reoriented his life around this man, even if he was horrifically bad at having any input at all on their wedding plans. 

But Hannibal had lived his life in a very specific way for decades. He was entirely problem free, because he generally ate his problems. Or ate a substitute for his problems. 

Now, the basement freezers were bare. Hannibal was ridding the basement of his equipment a little bit at a time, so as not to arouse any suspicion. He’d suggested repurposing it, but Will had been adamant that nothing that had touched one of his ‘victims’ would ever touch Will. A bit of a waste of good chain, but Hannibal could afford to eat that cost. 

There would be no more sounders, but there were still plenty of pigs in the world. Rude passers-by, abrasive doctors, infuriating patients. Hannibal’s stress was building for the first time in… he could not remember. He was shaking with the need to do something, to do  _ anything _ , to get his hands on someone and mold them, create something from them. 

The dogs came running when Hannibal returned home that night. He ushered them out into the yard and shut the door behind them, ridding himself of his shoes and suit jacket. On quiet, socked feet, he followed the ambient noises of the house, Will’s hopeful call of ‘Hannibal, are you home?’

Will was in the laundry room, folding clothes in the meticulous way Hannibal had taught him. He had the radio on, his eyes focused on the task at hand. He was entirely unaware of Hannibal, until Hannibal slipped up behind him. He slid one arm around Will’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides, and the other hand took up a fistful of Will’s hair, yanking his head back as Hannibal began to drag him out of the room. 

“Shit -”

Beyond that, Will said nothing else. He didn’t struggle, he moved where Hannibal moved him, took his weight when he was allowed to, didn’t hinder Hannibal’s plans, whatever the fuck they were.

At the stairs they paused, Hannibal considering how best to coordinate their movements so his desire to hurt Will didn’t spill into a kind of hurt neither appreciated. He didn’t want  _ that _ . He wanted Will, he wanted him under his command, his control, his whim, but he wanted him contented. He wanted him to understand, to  _ see _ what this was.

“Up,” he eventually said, releasing Will enough for him to walk on his own, Hannibal following just behind, step for step. At the top of the stairs he gathered Will to him again, but this time it was more intimate, softer. He nuzzled Will’s curls, breathed in the smell of him; dogs, detergent, oil, sawdust, wine.

“I want you,” Hannibal told him lowly.

“I’m here.”

Permission, submission.

Hannibal loved him beyond words in that moment.

There were only rare instances where their play did not benefit the both of them. In those, they had stopped, crossing those particular kinks off the list in mutual agreement. Hannibal did not think that this particular proclivity of his would be taken too poorly, but it would require of Will a level of patience he rarely had when trying new things.

“What do you need?” Will asked quietly, when Hannibal hadn’t moved them, when he continued to breathe Will in and hold him in an embrace that was bordering on too tight. He could feel the anger radiating off of him like heat, but none of it struck him, just passed through. He was not the target of Hannibal’s ire, merely the conduit that would transform it into something else.

“I need you to be still,” Hannibal said, his voice a soft rumble in his chest, a deep growl that made Will shiver, “Still, and patient. To move where I put you and stop when I say.”

“I can do that.”

Where Hannibal put him was the study, not a common place for play, but not one they’d never used before. He had Will kneel on the floor by the desk, head down. Will took up his best posture, eager to please, to soothe.

Hannibal left him only for a moment, fetching supplies from their bedroom. Soft ropes, emergency scissors. A few odds and ends in case Will needed the stimulation, but all Hannibal really desired were the ropes.

Will glanced up when Hannibal knelt beside him, licking his lips at the sight of the rope. “Do you want me to strip?”

“No,” Hannibal said, wrapping a length of rope around Will’s chest, “Just be very still.”

So Will sat, quiet and unmoving, allowing Hannibal to do what he needed to him.

Sometimes, Hannibal took his emotions out on Will with pain, those days were extraordinarily difficult, but the aftercare was sublime. After days like that, Hannibal would let Will sleep for an age, feed him hearty and warm things in bed, cuddle him. Sometimes that was enough to ease the stormcloud of Hannibal’s moods.

Today, he seemed to deliberately channel the urge to  _ do something _ into doing very little, or at least, very slowly. Will had been bound before, in some very uncomfortable positions, and some very welcome ones. He’d felt rope bite into his skin, leave marks and bruises if he struggled against it, but he had never felt truly trapped. He trusted Hannibal too much. Now, Hannibal bound him not just to keep him still, but in a way as to make him aesthetically pleasing as well.

Will had been dressed in a comfortable tee-shirt and some worn jeans, his work-collar still on as Hannibal hadn’t unlocked it to replace it with Will’s home-collar yet. He lifted his chin as Hannibal guided him to, tried to catch his eye but didn’t force the contact when Hannibal looked away. Instead, Will concentrated on the meditative way in which Hannibal tied him. 

Every knot was methodical, every twist of the rope pressing just where it needed to for Will to feel it, but for it not to hurt him. Every few turns of the rope, Hannibal would run his fingers between it and Will’s skin, checking the tightness, checking for chafing or pain.

Will already felt the warm ebb of that headspace against his eyes, just from this. From Hannibal’s steady breathing, from his careful and deliberate touches, from the way he felt trapped in the best possible way by the rope surrounding him like a chrysalis.

When Hannibal was done with Will’s arms - behind his back, wrist to elbow, and carefully bound together - he came around to his front again, and this time he kissed him. It was almost painfully gentle, a brush of lips that parted Will’s on a quiet sound and immediately closed his eyes. Will opened wider, let him in, remained as still as he could be as Hannibal took what he wanted with soft presses of his tongue and a rough nuzzle that came after.

“Are you alright?” Hannibal asked. Will swallowed.

“Yes.” He replied honestly.

Hannibal kissed him again, quick this time. “Under the desk,” He instructed.

Will stared at him. “...What?”

Hannibal smacked him lightly across the cheek, more playful than punishing. “I want you to kneel under the desk, Will.”

Will moved, squirming back on his knees. Hannibal helped to guide him, until he was sequestered carefully under the desk, staring up at Hannibal with a sudden comprehension, a quirk of a smile on his lips. 

Hannibal settled into his desk chair, undoing his pants and working his cock out before he began to slide the chair forwards. He was only about half-hard, but as he bracketed Will’s body with his legs, Will’s mouth dropped open eagerly. 

Will dove on Hannibal like he was starving for it, sucking hard, coaxing Hannibal to his full size. Hannibal allowed his excitement for a moment or two, before cupping his hand around the back of Will’s head and pulling him in close, holding him still.

Hannibal had done this before, forcing his cock down Will’s throat, choking him on it, but now he kept Will still, his length resting thick and full in Will’s mouth, but not far enough to restrict his breathing. Will tried to bob his head again, whining in confusion when Hannibal gripped tight to his hair and held him in place.

_ Move where I put you, and stop when I say. _

He huffed a breath through his nose and settled, mouth open wide to accommodate Hannibal, tongue spread against the thick vein. It felt surprisingly comfortable, but Will couldn’t figure out why Hannibal wanted this. Why he wanted Will to just  _ sit there _ with his cock in his mouth when Will could suck him off, gag on him, tease his foreskin back and make Hannibal groan in pleasure.

After a few moments, Hannibal removed his hand from Will’s hair, drawing his knuckles in a soft caress over his cheek before taking his hand away entirely. Will blinked, kneeling like an idiot beneath Hannibal’s desk,  _ not _ sucking him off so much as just… holding him, as Hannibal -

\- Pulled a goddamn piece of paper out and took up his fountain pen. Will made an indignant sound, gently drew his teeth over Hannibal’s cock in order to get his attention and furrowed his brows when Hannibal deigned to look.

“Stay,” was all he said, before returning to his work.

Will felt his cheek flush with humiliation. This felt strange, too strange to be nice. They’d never talked about this before, and Will wasn’t concerned so much as genuinely confused. This didn’t seem  _ kinky _ at all to him; there was no effort involved besides the inevitability of a numb leg when he stood up from kneeling so long. Sure, Will was bound up, but even then he wasn’t naked, he wasn’t struggling against anything, he wasn’t on display. He just… existed.

His only purpose, right then, was to keep Hannibal’s cock in his mouth, and stay still, like a good boy.

And suddenly, heat flared down Will’s spine, coiled at the base of his back and nudged his cock to attention. That… that was interesting. That he could work with.

Hannibal’s pen scratched away at the paper, a constant, almost rhythmic sound. There was nothing to hear or see, nothing to  _ do _ . Just Will and his thoughts. 

There was something to be said for being  _ good _ . For feeling that flush of pleasure when Hannibal was proud of him. And this, this was so very easy. Just be still, be  _ useful _ . Be  _ used. _ Hannibal had used him before. Thoroughly. This was just another way to do that, another way to exert power and control. 

Will was entirely trapped, surrounded on all sides by Hannibal’s scent, Hannibal’s body blocking out the light, Hannibal’s taste in his mouth. He was salivating, saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth as Hannibal stretched his jaw wide. Will swallowed, but his mouth just flooded again, over and over as the minutes passed, sometimes overflowing, damp trails over his jaw.

There was nothing. Nothing but this. Nothing but Hannibal, but safety and security. Will’s eyes fluttered closed. He hummed helplessly, lost, drifting. He was hard, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but sitting very still, very quiet, being good for Hannibal. 

And Hannibal, for his part, felt himself relax moment by moment into something that more easily fit his human suit. It was about control, it always had been. The killing, the eating, the presentation and tempting of the FBI. Control in every place and in every way. 

Before, when his hands shook and his temperament was on danger of tipping into rudeness, Hannibal would leave Will exhausted with pleasure, kiss the sighs from him and rest warm against him until Will fell asleep entirely. Then he would go, and find a thing worth wiping out, and kill it, dragging it back to the basement to dismember and remake into beauty worthy of the man he woke up to every morning.

He would serve Will breakfast. 

He would build beautiful tableaux for the FBI to find.

But when Will learned, when he discovered… Hannibal never wanted to bring such pain to him again. Not ever. If that meant he no longer brought himself to equilibrium by bloody means, then he would not.

But the aching need for control was not easily sated by beautiful meals or musical composition. It needed to be physical. It needed to feel entire and all-encompassing, a mercy Hannibal was bestowing, rather than a concept of it. He refused to play at pain with Will when he himself could not control his urges. He refused to bring him to harm.

And so, with patience, instead. With patience and silence and stillness, asking of Will things he so often couldn’t manage on his own; fidgety as he was, pacing, always moving, touching and tugging and bringing things into his sphere. Now, he sat passive between Hannibal’s legs, tongue gently moving back and forth against his cock as Will sat where he was put, was still as he was told.

There had been a noticeable change when Will fully settled into it, when he crossed from placid obedience to true enjoyment. His eyes had shut, he’d stopped working so hard to swallow everything down. He looked blissful now, entirely secure. Hannibal let him linger there for a bit longer, reaching down to pet gently at his curls.

“It’s time to come up, Will,” He finally said, tugging lightly at his hair. Will blinked hazily up at him, making no move to pull off of Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal could have used him, fucked his mouth until he was dripping with more than just spit, but with his boy as lax and peaceful as he was, Hannibal wanted to be inside him properly. 

Will swallowed around him, letting his eyes drift shut again. He was a mess, his face slick with spit. No doubt his legs had fallen asleep long ago, yet Will seemed content to stay where he was.

“It’s time to come up,” Hannibal said again, a fond smile crossing his features. He cupped Will’s jaw, tugging at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Will whined his displeasure, turning pleading eyes on Hannibal. “It’s been over an hour, darling.”

Will blinked, some of the glazed emptiness clearing for a moment. He allowed himself to be guided back, wincing a little as he closed his mouth for the first time in - apparently - an hour.

“Has it really?” He asked, voice rough from lack of use. Hannibal nodded, stroking his hair, his cheek, uncaring for the slick mess of spit that clung to Will’s chin and dripped from it. “Fuck… it feels like we just started.”

He licked his lips, blinked up at Hannibal with a sigh. Hannibal looked contented. Exhausted, but no longer the livid thing that had prowled into their home and dragged Will from mundane chores. He looked like his own again.

“Help me up?” Will asked him. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

Hannibal put himself away, pushing back the chair before crouching before Will and gathering him close. He had always been able to easily carry him, hold him up, pin him. He was stronger, but never used that strength  _ against _ Will. Now, he pulled Will up and sat him upon his desk, allowing his legs to dangle, toes just brushing the carpet beneath.

Will shook his head absently, as though pushing away a thought, and turned to Hannibal when he said his name.

“You’re beautiful,” Hannibal murmured, just watching him perched on his desk as Hannibal sat back in his chair to admire him. “Extraordinary.”

Will snorted. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No,” Will shook his head. “I literally didn’t do  _ anything _ , but it felt -” he bit his lip, brows furrowing in thought. He sat silent a moment, and Hannibal didn’t rush him, just looking, making sure that Will could turn his ankles and spread his toes in his socks to bring feeling back into his limbs. “It felt really good.”

Hannibal cupped Will’s face in both hands, tucking his curls behind his ears and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Will hummed happily, still sounding slightly distant. “I don’t understand what you got out of that,” he said, “You didn’t even get to come.”

“The night isn’t over yet,” Hannibal told him, pleased at the pink that flushed Will’s cheeks. “I get to have you pliant, obedient. Focused entirely on me. Between my thighs, dripping and needy, but still because I told you to be.”

Will’s eyelids fluttered again, breath leaving him in a rush. Hannibal kissed him, heedless of the mess on his face. He relished the opportunity to make a mess of Will, to see him taken apart.

Gently, he lifted Will up, into his arms. Will wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist, tucking his face against Hannibal’ shoulder, helpless with his arms still bound. Hannibal brought him back to their room, letting Will fall back onto the bed, arms trapped beneath him. 

“Let me know if anything starts to hurt,” Hannibal murmured, but he was hardly paying attention, focused on stripping Will from the waist down. 

Will let him - as much because he couldn’t stop him as because he wanted to. He lifted his hips as Hannibal removed his jeans and underwear, laughed when Hannibal took his time to peel away Will’s socks too.

Will adjusted with a wriggle, enough that his hands weren’t hurting, enough that he could set his toes to the bed and open his legs for Hannibal as the other undressed before him. Will did love this, just watching him. He always had. And there was something incredibly sensual about looking, about intruding on an intimate moment.

He thought briefly about the time Hannibal had made him masturbate, just sitting in bed, sleep-lazy, legs spread wide as Hannibal watched. It had felt almost stupid when they started, Will throwing out snide remarks, pretending to play up a role. But he’d come so hard, by the end, Hannibal having not touched him at all the entire time.

Will’s cock filled heavier, curled up against his stomach as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and watched Hannibal standing bare at the foot of the bed.  _ God _ he wanted him.

Hannibal moved over Will as he always did, predatory and powerful, and Will felt a growl pulse in his throat before Hannibal kissed him and it turned to a moan.

“You want me to stay still again?” Will teased, groaning as Hannibal lay between his spread legs, enough friction to rock against as he reached for the lube.

“Can you?” Hannibal asked him, amused. Will just grinned back, arching his back to rub up against Hannibal’s cock, hot and leaking between them.

“If you ask nicely.”

“And if I tell you to?”

Will’s grin melted to something softer, something absolutely adoring. “Try me.”

Hannibal kissed wet and lingering at the pulsepoint below Will’s jaw, grazing his teeth over the slick mark he left behind. “Stay still, Will,” he whispered in his ear, “Be a good boy and stay where I put you.”

Will closed his eyes and moaned softly, stilling as Hannibal tugged the collar of his t-shirt to the side to work bruises into his skin, sucking hard over his collarbone. Beneath him, his bound hands clutched at the blankets, keeping himself grounded.

Hannibal was slow to open Will, and even slower to press inside of him. Will was gasping by the time Hannibal was fully seated, thighs trembling on either side of Hannibal’s hips. 

“Hannibal, please tell me I can move.”

Hannibal smiled down at him, a sensual cruelty in his eyes. “Stay where I put you,” he repeated, lifting one of Will’s legs over his shoulder.

Will cried out as he was fucked, body shifting up the bed from the force of Hannibal’s thrusts. His thighs ached from how widely he was stretched, how firmly Hannibal pinned him in place. He whined out pleas, shaking with the effort to be still, to take the deep thrusts over his prostate, the constant fullness as Hannibal gripped his hips and hauled him roughly into the rhythm of his hips. 

Hannibal hadn’t told Will he couldn’t come, just that he couldn’t move, but he found that he couldn’t anymore, without permission. Without asking, first, at least. There was a strange power to that, he thought vaguely, and an absolute safety.

“Hannibal -”

“Will.”

“Can I come?”

Hannibal hummed, slowed his thrusts to teasing, agonizingly teasing shifts against Will, shallow and unsatisfying. He looked at the man under him, half-bared, flushed, sweaty. The rope was soft but it still dug where Will’s muscles pulled and tensed. He looked undone. He looked debauched and owned and stunning.

“Untouched,” Hannibal permitted, and Will moaned at the challenge, squeezing tight around Hannibal’s cock as he thrust back in and Will nodded his agreement. Like this. Just like this, or not at all.

Another rule he had grown to crave in bed together.

“Please,” Will’s neck arched, a delicate string of spit caught between top lip and bottom. “Harder, Hannibal,  _ please _ .”

Hannibal gave him one deep, breath-taking thrust, then another, and then slowed. Still deep, still grazing over Will’s prostate with unerring accuracy, but not enough to tip Will over. Will whined, earning a harsh bite to his throat in retaliation. 

“I’m enjoying you,” Hannibal told him, “All you have to do is lay there and let me.”

The words dug in to that safe space from earlier, that place where Will had ceased to exist, where he had become nothing more than something for Hannibal to use. He gasped, shuddering through a sudden hot pulse of pleasure, his body clenching tight around Hannibal’s steady thrusts. 

Will ached for it, for that belonging. He knew Hannibal didn’t see him as anything lesser, anything inferior. But here, like this, Will wanted to be something Hannibal could  _ own _ , something that belonged to him. He tensed, legs stiffening, heel digging into Hannibal’s back, unable to be completely still as pleasure took him over.

Will’s climax was noisy, a high, needy moan overtaking him. Hannibal pushed him through it, until Will was whimpering, overstimulated and begging. Hannibal stole a kiss, licking into Will’s mouth as he too found his pleasure, pushed over the edge by Will’s desperate little pleas.

Will panted openly, chest rising and falling, hair stuck to his forehead and lips parted wide. His eyes were barely open, he could feel his pulse beat just out of time of Hannibal’s, a little faster, always. He groaned, teeth coming together gently as Hannibal pulled out of him, eased Will’s leg to the bed but didn’t move his weight from atop him.

Will didn’t care.

He could drown in him, in the comfort of his weight and smell and size. In the comfort of everything Hannibal was to him.

When Will finally shifted it was a gentle squirm, just enough for Hannibal’s eyes to meet his own. 

“Can I lie on my side?” He asked softly. Hannibal blinked, moving off Will’s chest to help him turn, hands down immediately to check Will’s own, finding his fingers squeezing back. “You don’t have to untie me, I just needed the weight off my wrists,” Will mumbled, nuzzling close as Hannibal lay with him, their heads on the same pillow.

After a moment more Will hummed, blinking his eyes open again. “So what was that, from the list?”

“Cockwarming,” Hannibal said, amused by the disgruntled expression it brought to Will’s face. “and a taste of kinbaku.” He trailed a finger lightly over the ropes that crossed Will’s chest, tugging at one to watch him take in a breath. “Japanese for ‘tight binding.’ In the future, I may wish to try more complicated patterns and positions.”

“You want to watch me struggle to be still,” Will accused.

“You didn’t seem to struggle much today.” Hannibal cupped Will’s chin, running his finger through the dried mess over Will’s face. Will shuddered. “Tell me, darling, how did you find it once you’d tried it.”

Will smiled, cheeks faintly pink. “Soothing,” he admitted. “It’s difficult at first. All you can think about is your legs going numb and the drool. And ‘how long is he going to make me do this?’”

“And then?”

“And then everything stops,” Will murmured, a faint look of longing in his eyes. “Everything went away but you.”

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully. “You enjoyed a chance at release. You think too much, too fast. Subspace has been a safe space for you, but you found a different sort of escape here.”

“Subspace is hazy,” Will explained, “It’s hazy and safe, and I know if I just trust you and do what you say, everything will be fine. This was… The same, but more. I didn’t have to do what you said, because you weren’t saying anything. You put me where I was needed and then… It was like I ceased to be. I wasn’t even a person anymore. Just an object for use.”

“The usefulness a reward in itself,” Hannibal said, Will nodded, letting Hannibal kiss him as he leaned in, turned his nose against Hannibal’s in a slow deliberate nuzzle of his own.

“You’d think it would be debasing but…”

“Anything can be used as punishment or reward,” Hannibal pointed out. “It depends what your mind makes of it. For some people, being an object is inhumane, the thought alone disgusts them. But for you, the chance to be free of thought and consequence and the myriad of tasks thrown upon you day by day…”

“It’s a release,” Will sighed, stretching his legs out with a hum before draping one over Hannibal to hold him near. “What do you get out of it?”

Hannibal stroked his hair, drew the flat of his thumb over the stubble Will had let grow out beneath his chin.

“Control.” he replied softly. “Absolute control. Being able to set someone where I want them and have them stay, unmoving, not wanting for anything, not even -”

“Not even alive,” Will finished quietly, raising an eyebrow when Hannibal met his eyes with a gentle look of guilt. Will smiled a little. “Yeah I figured. It’s… it should scare me. It should horrify me that for an hour I didn’t exist, not even for you, but… I feel safe with you. I feel so safe with you, Hannibal. And if this helps, if this is a way you can -” neither needed him to finish the sentence. Will sighed, pressing their foreheads together. “Then I’ll not exist for you.”

—-

They escalated, as they always did. Between the two of them, they needed at least a short scene of that kind once a week, on average. The positions became more complicated. The time lengthened. Hannibal got creative about the things he set Will to do. Once, Will spent three hours bound thoroughly to the stair railing, limbs held tight with complicated knots that trapped a tray in his hands. He was an end table. He was trembling, cock dripping, by the time Hannibal cut him free. 

Sometimes it was Hannibal, angry and tense, dragging Will into position. Sometimes it was Will, on his knees, asking to be taken apart. 

Today, it was Hannibal. He met Will at the front door with a bag in his hands, the dogs already let loose in the yard. Will went quietly, obediently, recognizing the shadowed look in Hannibal’s eyes. 

Hannibal didn’t speak to Will while he stripped and bound him, as if the game had already begun. His hands lacked their usual gentleness, though he was still thorough in checking the ropes and Will’s circulation. 

First, a harness, woven in red over Will’s chest. Next, thighs bound to calves, a deep blue winding up and down Will’s legs. Will’s arms were secured thoroughly to the harness in a deep forest green. By the time Hannibal threaded a length of black from his collar down to his knees, Will was drifting, on the very edge of the place he needed to be. 

“Test,” Hannibal commanded. Will squirmed, unable to do more than wiggle his fingers and toes. He’d been bound in a tight ball, the black rope preventing him from straightening out. Hannibal made a hum of approval. 

“Safeword?” He asked next, watched as Will’s lips pursed and released.

“Chesapeake.”

“Non-verbal?” Hannibal’s voice had dropped, it always did, when he asked Will for his safeword. Will hated the taste of it in his mouth more and more. In answer to Hannibal’s request he clicked his fingers once, a loud and sharp sound in the room.

“Good.”

Will watched as Hannibal took one of his ties and knelt to wind it around Will’s eyes, blinding him. The silk was soft and gentle, it always was, but it added another level of detachment when Will couldn’t even see Hannibal to orient himself around him. He licked his lips before releasing a huff of breath, his muscles easing with it.

Hannibal allowed his palm to rest against Will’s face for just a moment, reassurance and grounding.

“Open.”

Will did, obediently, a surprised sound escaping him as Hannibal worked his jaw open wider, a gag they rarely used worked between his teeth to hold Will’s mouth open obscenely wide. Hannibal checked it wasn’t too tight around Will’s head, allowed him to try its resistance with his tongue and lips, spit already gathering behind his teeth.

This, they had done, to a point. Will had been bound and blinded before, blinded and gagged before, rarely all three. But Hannibal needed more. He needed Will entirely gone for this, needed him as far away from Hannibal’s cruel nature as he could get him, for his own safety. He sighed, leaning to whisper against Will’s cheek.

“I will leave you touch and taste,” he said, “and nothing more, beautiful boy.”

Will whimpered, for a moment panicked. Too much. It would be too much to be trapped so entirely within himself. Surely Hannibal wouldn’t expect him to, surely -

The plugs were soft and warmed by Hannibal’s fingers, and pressed thickly into Will’s ears, enough to dull most sound around him and leaving him with the heavy panting of his own breathing and the hum of his pulse.

Will squirmed for a minute, unable to orient himself. Hannibal was silent when he wanted to be, and the dogs were outside. There would be nothing, absolutely  _ nothing.  _

And there  _ was _ nothing. For long, long minutes, nothing. Then he was shifted, adjusted slightly. Changing what angle he faced. Nothing more than shifting a statue. And then more nothing. 

Quiet. Dark. Floating. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. He wasn’t even warming Hannibal’s cock, or holding a tray. He was  _ decorative.  _

Will’s own mind was the greatest tool at Hannibal’s disposal. He imagined Hannibal going about his life with Will like this. Will, bound tight and frozen in the middle of a dinner party, with no idea anyone was even there. Hannibal could let a dozen people in, and Will would neither see nor hear them. Hours would pass and people would walk past him, staring, whispering, complimenting Hannibal’s decor. 

He wasn’t real. Will lost himself. His knees and calves hurt, and then slowly stopped, his body adjusting, his mind forgetting. He was nothing. He wasn’t Will Graham. He was furniture. Will sank, hard and fast. 

Time passed. He had no idea how much. He didn’t care. A hand in his hair, tight, no attempt at comfort, just holding him steady so a cock could be fed through the gag and into his mouth, inch by inch until Will’s throat fluttered helplessly around the head. 

If there was a reprimand, he didn’t hear it. If he was being watched, Will couldn’t tell. He took what he was given, choking helplessly until he was granted the single mercy of a change of angle, just enough to have his spit spill from his mouth rather than down his throat. And then he was fucked.

Will had gotten used to the roughness of Hannibal’s pleasure quickly. From the very beginning of their time together neither had treated the other like porcelain; always considerate but never  _ gentle _ , not really, not unless they were both so far gone into their own heads that gentleness was all they had the strength for.

Will made a sound and it reverberated in his skull like a siren, too loud and overwhelming and foreign. He didn’t sound like himself. He wasn’t himself. He was a thing someone had yanked close to pleasure themselves with, fucking into his throat, pushing deeper and deeper until he choked and gagged in earnest and the hand in Will’s hair tightened painfully to hold him still.

Will tears plastered the silk over his eyes to his face and he didn’t care.

He didn’t know if he was breathing or choking or dying, and he didn’t care.

Will’s entire body felt like it was on fire, nerves responding to unrelated stimuli, mixing up and mangling in his over-full head.

Will could taste the slick and welcome bitterness that preceded orgasm, relaxed his entire body to  _ take it _ , sobbing around the cock that rubbed his throat raw with the pressure.

And then as quickly as he’d been grasped, he was released, shaking and sweaty, pulse a marching drum around his ears. No relief for him, no relief for the man who had so thoroughly used him. Will whimpered, unsatisfied, desperate to be used  _ properly _ , to be used as he deserved.

He just drew a jagged breath when Hannibal’s release landed hot over his cheeks, down his chin, drops landing on his knees and slipping lazily down to his thighs. Will whined, low and pleased, and hated that he couldn’t curve his tongue enough to swallow properly, to taste. 

He’d done his job. He’d stayed still and quiet and let Hannibal use him for pleasure. The quickly cooling liquid on his face was uncomfortable, and such a waste when Will would have happily swallowed it, but it was just a reminder that he’d been good, useful. 

A hand wrapped in the harness over Will’s back and pulled. Will’s body lifted, all one piece, stitched together tight enough to be hauled along like luggage. Will let out a startled whine, hastily silencing himself when nothing hurt or pulled too badly. The harness had been well balanced. 

Will had no way of knowing how high he was lifted or how far he was moved, but it seemed like no time at all before he was set down again, on his knees this time, left to wait until he could be useful again. If he was lucky, Hannibal would leave him like this long enough to fuck his mouth again. 

Will’s body was warm despite his nakedness, his cock hard where it rested on his thigh. There was nothing he could do about that, no way to grind or touch. He wouldn’t have anyway. Toys, objects,  _ furniture _ , they didn’t masturbate. 

Something heavy rested on his back, just between his shoulder blades. It stayed there, unmoving. Will thought he felt the wool of Hannibal’s socks. 

He made a gentle sound, which was predictably not answered, and allowed himself to settle. This was how he was wanted. This was how he would stay.

Beneath Hannibal’s feet, Will’s entire body unfurled. Still bound in beautiful knots and held together in an aesthetically unnatural way, he relaxed more than he managed to on a good day at work in the academy.

Hannibal would glance down for a cursory check once in a while, that Will was alright, that his pulse that Hannibal could see beating at his throat was not stuttered or rabbit-quick. He would check that he was breathing properly, the gag keeping his mouth sufficiently wide to allow it. He considered with pleasure the sweat that slowly built up over Will’s shoulders and back, where his knees bent, where his arms pressed tight to his chest. It was warm in the house but not overly so; Will’s body was under a lot of stress in this position, and his mind allowed to roam free when no sounds or sights could distract him.

Hannibal enjoyed his footstool for more than half an hour, long enough for Will’s legs to start trembling, for the ropes to start truly digging into his shins and ankles, for the sounds he made of arousal to meld more often into those of discomfort.

“Remarkable boy,” he told him, aware that Will wouldn’t hear him. Certain, as well, that had Will the sense returned to him now, he would still not.

Carefully, he lifted Will onto the couch, getting a soft moan of discomfort, but no fear. Will was entirely trusting, silent even as Hannibal worked the gag away from his mouth. Hannibal settled onto the couch, Will trapped between his knees, and slipped his soft cock into Will’s mouth. The immediate noise of pleasure he got made Hannibal chuckle, gently petting Will’s hair back.

Will stayed where he was put, sucking gently at Hannibal’s cock, but making no effort to move. Hannibal let him settle into it before working the ear plugs free.

“Such a good boy for me, Will,” Hannibal whispered, watching the faint flush of joy bloom on Will’s face. “That’s it. Take your time. We’ll come up slowly.”

After several long moments, Hannibal slipped the silk blindfold off. Will blinked up at him, completely lost. Hannibal kept up his litany of praise, the constant touch to Will’s face and hair. When he reached beneath Will to cut the black rope connecting his collar to his knees, Will didn’t so much as twitch. 

“A little more for me, now,” Hannibal coaxed, urging Will to curl onto his side. Will whined as Hannibal slipped from his mouth, but he moved as Hannibal instructed. “Legs down, slowly.” 

Will stretched his back, making soft whimpers of pain and giving up after a minute. He wanted to stay right here, his head between Hannibal’s thighs, waiting to be of use again.

Hannibal coaxed him to unfurl slowly, cutting the ropes from him rather than unwinding them as he normally would. Ropes didn’t matter. Ropes were material and disposable. The man they bound, the man so hazy and so far in his own head that he was non-verbal, he mattered. He meant the absolute world.

Hannibal worked free Will’s arms first, kissing gently against the marks the ropes left behind. The harness fell away from Will like a second skin, ropes loose and useless on the couch. With Will’s legs, Hannibal was more careful. He’d held weight on them, and the bindings, while specific and safe, left red lines against Will’s skin that would not fade for a day or so, at least. Hannibal slipped from the couch to gently coax blood to Will’s calves and feet, massaging in gentle circles as he guided Will to stretch them out.

It took a while, several long minutes of patient care, and then Hannibal hooked his arm under Will’s knees and laid them over the arm of the couch, feet dangling and Will heavy and sleepy on the couch cushions proper.

“Will.”

Kneeling by Will’s head, Hannibal stroked his hair, drew fingers over the marks the gag had left on his cheeks, over the mess flaking away beneath his fingers. When Will turned his head, lolling like a doll’s, Hannibal kissed him.

“Come back to me.”

Will hummed, soft and sweet. He looked like he was halfway to sleep.

“You’re safe with me,” Hannibal told him, “You’re home, you’re safe, and you did so  _ very _ well for me. I’m proud of you.”

That earned him a smile, wide enough to show teeth. Will reached clumsily for him, and Hannibal interlaced their fingers. He tilted Will’s wrist up, placing a kiss over the veins. “I’d like us to have a bath. When that’s done, then I can let you rest. Won’t it be nice to be clean?”

Will pouted at him, looking almost childish, and shook his head. Hannibal laughed. “You have plenty of marks to wear,” he said, running his palm over Will’s thigh, “You don’t need the mess as well.”

Will needed to be carried to the bathroom, legs trembling when he tried to get them under him. Hannibal held him close and wiped his face clean with a soft cloth, kissing Will’s parted lips when he was done. Will grew more alert as time went on, but he still seemed content to let Hannibal care for him. 

He dozed against Hannibal’s chest in the bath, moving his fingers through the water like he’d never seen it before. He nuzzled back against Hannibal’s neck, planted sloppy kisses to his jaw and cheek. When Hannibal guided him out and wrapped Will in an enormous towel, he could keep his own balance. He opened the towel to welcome Hannibal into it when he’d drained the bath.

“My Will,”Hannibal kissed him again and just held him near, the two of them swaying lightly as though to a tune only they could hear.

“God, I’m so fucking tired,” Will rasped after a while, turning his face against Hannibal’s chest. “That was the most intense thing we’ve ever done.”

Hannibal hummed agreement, kissing Will’s hair, raising his chin gently. “Are you alright?”

“More than.” Will told him honestly. “Sore, but I was down for a bit -”

“Four hours.”

“Shit,” Will laughed. “God, it always feels shorter.” he brought the corner of the towel up to rub away a drop of water slipping down his temple and sighed. “Take me to bed?”

“To sleep,” Hannibal replied, amused, and Will grinned.

“I mean, whatever gets you off, but I don’t think I can participate much right now beyond groans and the occasional snarky comment.”

Hannibal chuckled, pleased, and kissed the side of Will’s head. “To sleep.” he repeated. “And when you wake, I’ll feed you from my fingers.”

“In bed? You spoil me.”

Hannibal nuzzled him. “Not nearly enough.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The day came, as all days did._
> 
> The boys get hitched!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this far, thank you all so, so much! The boys are going on a short hiatus for a couple months - think of it as their honeymoon. We have the story planned out and it has an ending, we just need a bit of time to write it up for you! But never fear, they have not been abandoned.

Hannibal had never kept Will away from the wedding planning as much as Will kept himself away. He would ask, often, if he could help, and he did when it was something he felt he could do. Setting up a mailing list for invitations, from Hannibal's contacts and his own. Choosing the venue for the ceremony as well as the reception with Hannibal. Delighting in contributing his selection for the enormous alcohol list.

He dutifully went for suit fittings, pretending to hate the entire endeavour while relishing Hannibal's eyes on him the whole time. They would be wearing matching suits; silvery storm grey with a deep navy lining, shirts of eggshell white and silk ties to match. 

Neither had selected groomsmen. Will had joked that the dogs would suit him perfectly for the role, and to his delighted amusement Hannibal had asked if they could share.

So the four of Will's party would don bandanas of navy, while the three of Hannibal's, the silver grey. Buster had immediately taken out a vendetta against his one, the grey turning to brown very quickly, but Hannibal had insisted the color remain.

Now they were a week out from the event and Will was near-vibrating with worry.

They would put through the paperwork for Will's inherited title after the ceremony, and take time for a honeymoon once it was approved. More, Will thought, so Hannibal could enjoy introducing Will as his "husband, Count William Lecter" than anything else.

He had to admit, he was growing to like the ring to it.

If Will was worried, Hannibal was nearly giving himself a heart attack. Oh, he  _ seemed _ normal, and Will was fairly certain Hannibal thought he was fooling him, but Will knew the signs by now. 

Dinners were simple, for a Hannibal version of ‘simple.’

Hannibal spent an hour reading a book and only turned the page twice. 

Harpsichord music filled the halls at odd hours, and never anything Will recognized as Hannibal’s own compositions.

Neither of them tended to sleep a full eight hours, but Will often woke to find the comforting press of Hannibal’s body was gone, the bed long cold. 

“Do I have to chain you to the bed to get a good night’s sleep?” Will joked one morning. He’d waited until Hannibal had curled up in his favorite chair and then crawled right into his lap, determined to claim his attention. 

Hannibal’s smile was wary. “I’m not sure either of us would enjoy that. I might enjoy the fallout, though.” His hand slid down Will’s back to cup his ass.

Will hummed, eyes narrowed, and set his hands to Hannibal’s chest to feel his heartbeat, steady and slow, as always. “There’s only room for one insomniac in this family,” Will pointed out, amused. But when he leaned in to kiss Hannibal it was gentle and warm. “Can I help?”

Hannibal’s response was a sigh, but his expression eased in kind, as Will’s did. “Will you believe me if I tell you I’m nervous?”

“I’ll believe you,” Will agreed. “But I’ll be curious as to why. You’re as meticulous at organization as you are with everything else. Nothing will go wrong. Nothing  _ can _ go wrong.”

“Something can always go wrong,” Hannibal pointed out, turning his fingers in Will’s curls. They were always springier after a bath, now, with Hannibal applying proper product to it. Will’s diet of proper nutritious food also went a long way. When Will made a sound of displeasure Hannibal relented. “A particular bespoke item I had made for you arrived recently, and I’m concerned it may not be to your taste.”

“Bullshit.” Will’s grin brightened. “Name one time your sartorial choices were off-base.”

“You hardly wear anything I buy you.”

Will held up a placating hand. “That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’d hope you’d do more than just appreciate it.”

Will leaned forward, brushing his lips over Hannibal’s temple and lingering there. Hannibal held onto him; he was always helpless to resist when Will offered up physical affection. 

“The clothes you buy me would be absolutely ruined by motor oil or  _ viscera _ ,” he whispered into Hannibal’s hair, “And I can’t wear a plastic murder suit to work.”

Hannibal stiffened and made a grumbling noise of complaint. Will rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, alright, no making fun of the murder suit. Got it. My life is messy, Hannibal. Can you blame me for wanting to keep my gifts clean?”

“I’m well practiced in removing stains,” Hannibal pointed out, but he eased slightly beneath Will. 

“Show me what you ordered,” Will insisted, “And I promise I’ll wear it, even if it might stain.”

Hannibal had hidden the item in the study, locked into his desk drawer, as if Will ever went snooping through his things. Will sat on the sofa, staring down at the little box with a frown. Too small to be a shirt. Too light (thank god) to be a sex toy. If it turned out to be panties, Will was going to be very upset.

It wasn’t panties. They’d had playful arguments about lingerie before, but something about Hannibal’s demeanor didn’t suggest this would be another such time.

No, inside was a collar similar to the one Will wore to work, leather so soft it felt like fabric, as wide as his forefinger with a delicate lock. Unlike the one Will wore daily, this was dark grey and adorned with intricate detailing: gold and silver thread, navy around the edges to suggest shadow and depth.

There were no words, and for a while Will couldn’t tell what the design was at all until he took it up in his hand and let the collar slip over his fingers.

Dogs. Seven of them, all Will’s. He noticed Winston’s fountain of a tail, Buster’s tubby form, Maggie, Cameo, Jensen, Brick, Aston… around them the delicate forms of springs flowers, flowing from the tail of the last dog a stream filled with silvered fish.

It was as though Hannibal had created a tapestry of Will’s life and the things he loved and compacted them into a soft leather promise and for a moment Will couldn’t speak.

“It’s beautiful,” he managed after a long time, fingers almost too scared to run over the stitching. “Hannibal, it’s wonderful.”

Hannibal knelt before Will, hands wrapped around Will’s knee. “Your usual collar seemed a bit ordinary for the event,” He said softly, “And I thought it might be uncomfortable beneath a tie.”

Will’s brow creased. “Then why-”

Hannibal gently eased the collar from Will’s finger, wrapping it around Will’s thigh, just above the bend of his knee. Will’s breath caught. 

“Traditionally, garters are worn a bit higher,” Hannibal explained, fingers trailing teasingly up the inside of Will’s thigh. Will snapped his legs together, a faint flush dawning over his features. Hannibal smiled and placed a kiss just above the new collar. “However, your thigh tapers a bit here, and we wouldn’t want it to slide off. It will be snug,” he warned.

Snug. Tightly bound around Will’s thigh, locked into place. A reminder of Hannibal’s ownership as Will gave himself fully to him, and received so much in return. Will wiped at his eyes. “You’re practically dying over me changing my name, aren’t you?” he joked, deflecting attention from his sudden emotional upheaval, “Possessive bastard.”

Hannibal leaned up to kiss him, a little more thoroughly than the situation warranted, ending with a nip to Will’s lower lip. “I’ve already tucked the key into my suitcase. I’ll take it off you when I have you in bed the first night of our honeymoon, and not a minute before.”

Will moaned and surged forward, collar falling forgotten to the floor as he wrapped himself around Hannibal. 

"You're such a fucking romantic," Will laughed against him. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you," Hannibal told him. He allowed Will his hungry claiming, opened himself up to the man entirely, as he did with everything in his life, now.

They had talked. Initially on the porch with copious amounts of wine and beer to ease the horror of it all. Then over dinner - vegetarian, always, though Will would on occasion provide fish. Then in bed, fingers tangling and voices growing lazy in sleep.

Hannibal had told Will everything, as he'd requested. He told him of Mischa. He told him of the orphanage and his uncle. He told Will of schooling and study. He told him of the bodies. He told him of the power and release of it all.

Will told him he loved him.

He told him thank you.

Once in a while, there would be a catch in how Will looked at him, a brief moment of tension that passed on the next breath, and Hannibal knew that he would carry that as penance for the rest of his life.

It was a gift compared to what could have happened had Will decided to go.

Now, he let Will pin him, teeth bared in mock indignation, and looked up at him with a smile.

"It's our sanctioned pre-wedding panic week. And we are going to sleep in."

"Are we?"

"Late." Will confirmed sagely. "After a good long fuck."

"Here?"

Will pretended to consider. "Could start here."

Whether Hannibal was about to complain of agree didn't matter, Will swallowed his words with another deep kiss.

\---

The day came, as all days did. They hadn’t bothered with the ridiculous idea of sleeping apart. They never did anything apart, and Will was struggling to hide himself. Now, he sat on the bed in a fluffy bathrobe, hair still damp from the shower, foot braced on Hannibal’s thigh.

“Feels like I should be kneeling for this,” he murmured. Hannibal had already removed Will’s day collar before the shower. His throat felt uncomfortably bare without it.

“It’s a significant moment,” Hannibal agreed, gently wrapping the new collar around Will’s thigh. Will had shaved his legs, swearing up and down it was solely to keep the collar from pulling at hair, and of course, it would have looked weird to just shave one thigh.

Hannibal clearly knew he was lying, but he seemed happy to let Will have his secrets for now. 

The buckle cinched tight, and then Hannibal managed to tug it one more notch, ensuring that Will would feel it with every motion. He hooked the delicate padlock through the loop, snapping it closed with a click that was too soft to be heard over Will’s own breathing. 

“You’ll tell me if anything hurts,” Hannibal told him, “No matter what we’re meant to be doing.”

“I’m not going to interrupt the vows,” Will said with a roll of his eyes. 

“I see no reason why not, since we haven’t written our own.”

“Because they would have been inappropriate for a congregation that includes  _ my boss _ ,” Will reminded him, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “We had our own ceremony,” he whispered, “That was just for us. I want it to stay that way.”

Hannibal kissed his cheek.

In truth, the opulent ceremony, the guests, the fuss, was for this to be official. And because of who Hannibal was, in society and on paper, they couldn't have just signed a piece of paper in the courthouse.

But Will was sure that even a small part of Hannibal was delighting in the spectacle. He could give him that, at least, if it made him so happy.

They'd removed their rings, too, choosing to keep their engagement and wedding bands the same. Will felt naked without it, and he caught Hannibal running his thumb over the space he usually wore his.

When did either of them become so sentimental?

"Four hours?"

Hannibal hummed the affirmative. Will sighed.

"We’ll need to take the dogs out before then."

"Photographer," Hannibal reminded him softly. Will snorted.

"He can follow. Get the good, bad, and ugly of me all at the same time."

“There’s nothing ugly about you,” Hannibal said firmly.

“You’re a  _ sap _ .”

\---

In the end, Will had offered very few opinions on their wedding. He wanted to be somewhere they could bring the dogs, he wanted to be able to pronounce at least one of the entrees, and he didn’t want a single hint of religion anywhere in the ceremony. 

All of this was surprisingly doable. Baltimore had quite a few ballrooms that were perfect for receptions, and a plethora of historic venues that would allow the dogs to stand in as the wedding party.

Their photographer was an overly cheery gentleman who was constantly asking Will to smile ‘just a little bit more,’ but who seemed to genuinely be happy to be there. He liked the dogs, certainly. During the pre-ceremony photo-shoot, he seemed to take more photos of them than of either of the grooms. Will found this to be perfectly acceptable.

And then it was time.

It had seemed, to Hannibal, that the moment itself took an eternity to arrive, and yet they had been racing towards it. Certainly, there never seemed to be enough time to handle the menu. He’d been forced to hire particularly obedient caterers, and to hand over control of the cake to someone else, but he’d left specific instructions for every morsel. 

He was not used to things being out of his hands, but it was how he often felt with Will. Standing with Will before the officiant, he realized that he was going to spend the rest of his life feeling ever-so-slightly off-kilter. He was looking forward to it.

The dogs behaved admirably in both parties, fidgeting only a little, not scratching off their bandanas, no accidents on the immaculately manicured grass. It was still strange for Will to see them here because he himself had never thought he would get here. Not even specifically with Hannibal, but ever. He’d not had teenage fantasies about a white picket fence and 2.5 kids. He’d enjoyed dating and casual hookups. He didn’t  _ need _ this, really.

Only now, he did.

He needed the man who was so carefully slipping a ring onto his finger. He needed his soft words and small smile. He needed his eyes that lit up just so when he was feeling playful, and darkened just as much when he was feeling dominant. He needed the band that held snug around his thigh, the collars he wore at home, the marks Hannibal left on him, the pleasure he gave him, the space he helped Will settle into so quickly, so safely.

Will didn’t remember the vows, only that he said them. He didn’t remember the pronouncements, only that they were kissing and Will was smiling too wide for it to be a kodak moment. And then it was over. The official pretty presentation part was over. They had to sign the wedding certificate and have it witnessed. They had to inform the guests of where the reception would be - they had decided to keep it simple and use the same venue - and when dinner would begin.

They had to do this and that and the other and finally,  _ finally _ , Will caught Hannibal by the lapels of his suit and yanked him close and kissed him stupid.

“Photographer,” Hannibal reminded him mildly, though his voice was dipped in that lovely warm way that made Will’s stomach flip.

“Good.” Will grinned, and kissed him again.

There were before-the-ceremony photos and after-the-ceremony photos and then the first dance, Will clinging to Hannibal and muttering promises of revenge while Hannibal grinned at him. By the time they were at a table and being served their meal, Will was starving.

He didn’t taste any of the food, too wrapped up in Hannibal. Hannibal, who was wrapped up in him, and on and on. 

That was how much of the wedding went, actually. They spoke to their guests, of course, but everything seemed to be hazy. That was possibly all the wine, though. One of the guests on Hannibal’s side was well on her way to wasted. 

Will distinctly remembered the cake, though. First, because it was delicious. Second, because he and Hannibal had promised not to smear it on each other’s faces. Hannibal fed him a bite, careful and sweet. 

Will, of course, smeared icing across Hannibal’s cheek. 

The threat in his eyes made Will shiver, licking one fingertip clean before deigning to wipe his hands on a napkin instead. Later. All of that later.

The dogs, for their role as Very Important Participants, were given a cake of their own, one Hannibal had made them. With pumpkin and peanut butter and the most elaborate decorations that all the animals promptly destroyed in their joy.

It was very dark by the time Will and Hannibal made their leave. It was very late. They had organized for the reception to be concluded around three, should any enthusiastic guests choose to stay so long, but had never planned to be in attendance the entire time.

They hustled the dogs into the Bentley, and Will allowed himself, in a moment of childish whimsy, to hold his fist up out the window and whoop as they pulled away. Far too happy, far too wired, aware that everything felt so normal, so real, and so right.

The dogs were freed from their bandanas when they got home and sent immediately into their space. They had been out all day among people, getting attention, sneaking food, marking their territory. And as much as both of them were used to the animals sharing their bed, tonight Will wanted it for just himself and his husband.

His  _ husband _ .

God.

He pressed a spread hand against Hannibal’s chest as he stepped nearer, both of them in the bedroom and tipsy and breathless, and pushed up onto his toes.

“Just watch,” he told him, letting Hannibal go, letting him decide if he wanted to sit or stand or sprawl, but Will was doing this for him because he’d planned it and it was going to go well.

He treated his wedding suit with caring disregard. Letting the jacket fall but not wrinkle, the tie remain in its knot. He pulled his belt free with a casual shrug, and stepped out of his shoes, and all that time Hannibal watched him. He’d taken a seat at the foot of the bed, near enough to Will to touch him if Will wanted him to.

Will was sure he looked like a drunk idiot, and far from the sensual being he’d wanted to present but at that moment he didn’t care. Because he had Hannibal, his own, right there, watching him like Will was the most brilliant thing on earth.

Will stood still as he worked his shirt open, eyes on Hannibal, one socked foot up against the other, toes to the floor and heel against his calf. One by one the buttons pulled free. More and more the shirt opened to reveal Will’s chest to Hannibal. Skin he knew so well, had marked with teeth and whispers and kisses. Skin, but also satin; satin Hannibal had not seen before.

They’d discussed lingerie. Hannibal had an appreciation for beauty in all its forms. Will had wanted no part of anything he viewed as embarrassing or uncomfortable.

Yet here he was, letting his shirt fall to the floor to reveal satin and lace, pure white, with delicate beading. His hands dropped to the buttons of his pants, kicking his socks off almost as an afterthought. 

Will was beautiful, in delicate panties made to hold back his budding erection and a lace-trimmed, sheer bralette, Hannibal’s carefully designed collar locked tight around his thigh. Hannibal patted his lap, leaning back.

“Come here, darling. Let me see you.”

“You can see me just fine,” Will teased, still breathlessly gleeful. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Hannibal’s thighs, settling into his lap with a tipsy giggle. 

Hannibal’s hands were warm as they slid up Will’s thighs, tugging gently at the elastic leg of the panties. “How long have you been planning this, you terrible thing?”

“A while,” Will admitted, running his fingers over Hannibal’s tie, pulling it free and undoing the knot. “It’s very hard to hide things from you, do you know that?”

“Yes.”

Will grinned. “Good things, of course, always good things. I… I wanted to try. But I wanted to try on my own. I didn’t want to promise you something and not deliver.”

“That has never been the case,” Hannibal assured him, looking at Will with absolute reverence, despite the warmth of pink at the crest of his cheeks that suggested he wasn’t entirely sober. “Not once.”

“Liar,” Will told him fondly, setting to work on Hannibal’s shirt next. He spread his knees almost as an afterthought, though the shift was entirely deliberate, his cock already half-hard in the delicate lingerie. “And I tried them and… I liked it. I liked how soft it felt against my skin. I liked how comfortable it was, despite looking so damn flimsy. And so I bought a pair. Or two.”

Will’s grin was a bright and wild thing, and he ducked his head to suck Hannibal’s nipple between his lips with a moan as Hannibal’s hands cupped his ass, stroking over the lace, plucking it teasingly from Will’s skin but not peeling it away.

To Will’s delight, Hannibal was rock hard in his pants when his fingers got there, and he shivered with the thrill of being the cause of it. It never ceased to amaze Will the sheer hunger Hannibal had for him, and how sharp Will’s was in return.

“So you are more than welcome,” Will murmured, drawing his tongue from Hannibal’s nipple to his collarbone before sitting up, arching his back and rolling his hips for Hannibal’s pleasure. “To ruin these as you will ruin me tonight. In fact,” Will nipped the thin skin, hard enough for Hannibal’s breath to catch. “I insist you do.”

Hannibal rolled them, tipping Will onto the bed. Will went in a flurry of giggles, squirming to get comfortable. 

“Going to rip them off me?” He asked, breathless as Hannibal cupped him through satin.

“Not at all,” Hannibal said, in the deep, gravelly voice that made Will shudder, “I intend to have you in them.”

Will dragged him down into a kiss, licking his way into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal rutted between his thighs, grinding down against the soft satin. Will threw his head back, exposing his throat for Hannibal to kiss and bite. 

“Have me,” Will demanded, helping Hannibal shove the last of his clothes away, “God, Hannibal, I need you.” His nails dug into Hannibal’s shoulders, hips rocking up to grind against him. 

“Settle, beautiful boy,” Hannibal whispered into his throat. He took Will’s left wrist in his hand, dragging it up to the headboard, where he’d already attached cuffs. Will practically smacked him with the next wrist, so eager was he to be bound beneath him.

Hannibal kissed his way down Will’s stomach, biting at the sensitive skin just below his navel. “All good things come to those who wait.”

Will groaned, pulling his knees up, heels digging into the bed. “I don’t want to wait,” He said with a pout, “It’s my wedding night and I’m in white. Shouldn’t you be deflowering me?”

“In that case  _ you _ should be blushing and nervous and quiet,” Hannibal pointed out, amused. “And you’ve never been quiet.”

Will snorted, tilting his head back and folding his fingers gratefully over familiar chains. He loved this. He loved all of it. He and Hannibal still had regular sex, on occasion; vanilla sex, missionary under the sheets rocking just so sex. It was rare but it did happen, and it was nice. But any time Will could be bound, held down, spread open… it was bliss.

He spread his legs wide for Hannibal, wanton and obscene, knowing just how he looked because he’d done this on his own before. Sitting in front of a mirror, turning one way or another, arching up, spreading his legs, watching the way the fabric moved with him, as close to him as ink on skin. He knew what Hannibal could see, and he knew he liked it. In bed, Hannibal was never guarded; Will could read him like a book.

“I’ve been thinking about all the things you can do to me in these,” Will murmured, tucking his stomach just a little, his cock twitching behind the lace. “How pretty red skin would look against the white, how it would grow transparent from spit and semen.”

Hannibal hummed, pleased, and ducked his head to kiss hot and teasing against Will’s thighs, holding him spread as Will squirmed in pleasure. Much as this truly was a beautiful set of lingerie, Hannibal had every intention of seeing it ruined. He wanted Will to struggle against its soft touch, he wanted to see it tear when Will pulled too hard or Hannibal caught his hand against it.

He wanted Will overwhelmed, for this experience to cement in his mind the power and pleasure of this particular game for them both. He touched another slippery kiss to Will’s thigh before pulling away and striking the skin hard with the flat of his hand, watching it immediately take color, watching Will’s cock fill so quickly he gasped for it. Hannibal looked up, catching the blush of Will’s cheek even as he sought to hide his face against his arm, lips parted and panting already, curled into a smile.

“God, yes.”

Hannibal would make him come before he fucked him, he always did. It was the manner in which he’d choose to bring Will over that had him tensing in anticipation.

Hannibal struck the other thigh, dragging his nails over the pink marks. Will groaned, arching his back, his hips lifting from the bed. Hannibal noted the position, then lifted him higher, so that he was braced on his shoulders. “Can you hold that?”

Will squirmed, face flush from drink and Hannibal’s touch. “I… I think so?”

“Good. Do.” It took some maneuvering, but Hannibal managed to aim a swat at the curve of Will’s ass. Not as hard as he could usually manage, but enough that Will nearly lost his balance. His stomach was already quivering with the effort of holding himself up. They would have to try this again when he was sober, perhaps with a stopwatch. Hannibal struck him again, growling in frustration when his efforts were again minimized. “Be still,” he warned Will as he slipped from the bed.

It was not an easy position to hold, with only legs and shoulders lifting him from the bed. Will was trembling by the time Hannibal returned from digging through their toy chest.

The riding crop was much smaller than Hannibal’s hand, giving him ample room to move. He struck Will just above his thigh, where the panties rode up to reveal the smooth, unmarked skin of his ass. It had been too long since he properly bruised Will, and tonight they weren’t sober enough to be so rough.

Will was certainly sober enough to feel the sting, however. He cried out, voice pulling in as much pleasure as pain. He had enough time to catch his breath before Hannibal whipped the crop through the air and Will’s skin sang with it.

God it felt good. It always did. Pain alone was often enough to get Will hard. Because it was  _ Hannibal _ hurting him, because it was Hannibal soothing him after, with soft lips and praise and a safe embrace.

He held out for two more before his back landed on the bed again and Will bounced just once. He laughed, he couldn’t help it, and gave Hannibal a helpless look before licking his lips and working himself back to the painful position he’d asked for. He spread his legs wider, for balance. His fingers tightened around the chains until they were pale with the effort.

When the crop found the sensitive skin of Will’s inner thighs he damn near howled, whining when Hannibal leaned in to kiss over the welt immediately after, the kiss as painful as it was soothing. Will’s chest rose and fell quickly with the effort of holding himself up, with the pain that grew more and more intense as Hannibal smattered his skin with welts that would be just dark enough to bruise the next morning.

Sweat slid down his sternum, stuck the satin to his skin in the most fetching way, and when Will collapsed this time, unable to hold his own weight, Hannibal immediately covered him with his body and kissed hungrily into his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he growled, “ _ wanton _ little thing.” He stroked will through the damp satin, fingers teasing over his balls, up and over the glans. Will writhed beneath him, moaning into the kisses, body trembling. 

“Please,” Will gasped, “Please, Hannibal, say I can.”

So obedient, when he wanted to be. Hannibal wanted to spend hours praising him and taking him apart, but for now, this would have to do. “Come,” he demanded, his free hand yanking hard at Will’s hair until he could work a reddened bruise over his adam’s apple.

He could feel Will’s cock pulsing in the panties, soaking them with his release. It would cool quickly, be damp and uncomfortable, and Hannibal knew that Will would relish it as he relished everything they did together.

Neither of them were patient. Hannibal did little more than a cursory preparation, just two fingers shoving lube deep into Will, before he was holding the panties to the side and pressing his slick cock into Will’s welcoming heat.

Will gasped beneath him, trembling little noises belying just how much he felt, how thickly Hannibal filled him, stretching him open and dragging over his sensitive inner walls. 

Will grit his teeth and turned his face aside and sighed out when Hannibal kissed just beneath his eye, still gentle, still so loving despite the pain. Will drew his knees up higher around him, groaning low and pained as Hannibal slid free and thrust back into him.

“Gonna feel you for days,” Will told him, biting his lip as Hannibal set a brutal pace and Will met every push with a tensing of his muscles, a tightening of his thighs around Hannibal. He turned his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes and smiled, laughing when Hannibal kissed his nose. 

He thought back to their proposals, the giddiness of it all, the passion after. They never did find the jacket to that suit, in the end. And now, just as then, Will was half-bare for Hannibal to conquer, owning him entirely with the weight of his body against Will’s the way he stole his breath, the way he gave it back just as eagerly with parted lips.

“I love you,” Will whispered, wrapping one leg around Hannibal’s hips as he continued to fuck into him. “ _ God _ , I love you.”

Hannibal was equally entranced, watching the way Will’s pulse skittered at his throat, the way the beautiful things he’d bought just for Hannibal to see were stuck slick to his skin, hiding nothing at all beneath. He sucked at a nipple through the fabric, relishing the sounds Will made against him, the way they vibrated through Will’s very bones to Hannibal’s own.

He slowed his pace, pressing their foreheads together, eyes barely open but watching each other from so near. Will was beautiful. He had always been beautiful to Hannibal, and that had never changed. And Will looked at him now like a man hopelessly in love and Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat.

Because he could have lost this, with his selfishness and his pride, he could have lost this extraordinary man beneath him. He drew his thumb over Will’s lips, pressed his own to them next and let his eyes close with a sigh. Will kissed him back just as softly, welcomed him in, here, as he welcomed Hannibal into his body every day.

Slow and sweet, barely aware of the day’s events, of the world around them. Will, first, with a soft little whine. Then Hannibal, moaning into Will’s collarbone. Just the two of them, together.

The world came back in small increments. First, the soreness. Will shuddered when Hannibal pulled out, accepting the kisses to his wrists as he was unbound. Then the damp, the chill.

“You ruined them,” Will said with a dazed smile. Hannibal nuzzled over the strap at his shoulder, plucking at it with his teeth.

“Not thoroughly enough. But perhaps next time.”

“Next time,” Will agreed, yawning. 

For now, there was a warm washcloth and warmer hands, piecing each other back together, bit by bit. Entwined under the covers, half asleep before they were fully settled. Later, there was a trip to worry about, things to pack. For now, there was only rest, the satisfied sleep that comes from curling up with someone you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come say hi on Tumblr](www.stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/) and see what else we have going on in our upcoming and WIP sections! (if the link doesn't work, our tumblr is stratsandwhiskeywritestuff)


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